oh forget i said love, but also don't forget i said love
by JannP
Summary: She has this way of falling apart completely and rebuilding herself and he wants to watch. He wants to be a part of it. He wants her to let him be a part of it, but he can't bring himself to beg. He doesn't know how to do this, never has when it comes to her. (Post-AYITL, multi-chapter Rogan. Titles from 'Empire Builder' by Laura Gibson. Rated T for now.)
1. we are more alone than we've ever been

**a/n: Mostly I loved the revival. Now my head and need to write fanfic is exploding, though. There will probably be several better examples of this, but this one is my take. I'm not sure how many parts yet. The title is taken from 'Empire Builder', a lovely and emotionally appropriate song by Laura Gibson.**

 **disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls or Netflix or anything else, really. No infringement is intended and no profit will be made. I'm mostly running in the negative at this point anyway so even if there was any made, it wouldn't be worth your time to sue me.**

* * *

 **chapter 1: we are not alone and we are more alone than we've ever been**

It was always easy to put a happy face on basically anything when he was still drunk and he was with Colin, Finn, and even (begrudgingly) Robert. He'd gotten used to it over time, being the life of the party. Or, if not, at least being part of the party. The problem was, in his years living in London, he'd also accidentally mastered the art of dropping that façade during a long flight. By the time he made it home, he probably looked as wrecked as he felt.

There was something about Rory Gilmore he'd never been able to let go. _Obviously_. They had been way too young for the things life had thrown at them when it had – but they had persevered. His feelings for her were the longest-running thing in his life at this point. Eventually, they weren't too young for it all anymore. That time had passed, but she hadn't seemed ready to settle. It was something he _had_ to do. He wasn't going to be allowed to just wait for her and, really, he wanted more from life than a few days here and there when someone blew into town. She'd managed to provide more and less, at intervals, but her inconsistency was the only steady thing about her. There was a thin thread of contact. She turned to him and he liked it, but you know, eventually, that's not a relationship or a lifestyle. Life had taken over, he'd made choices, and their agreement had been the only way he could keep her in his life. He did it, he knows he did it, and he would do it again. He wouldn't trade all the time he's spent with her for anything.

He knows Odette will be home when he gets there. That's the part and parcel of being engaged to him and raised in society. Of all the things he's on the hook for, he knows that's the most deceiving thing. He's been playing two sides of a coin for too long, living a public life and private life all at once. He wouldn't be shocked if she had done the same thing, at least before she moved in, but now… he almost wants to catch her so he'll be off the hook. How shitty does that make him? He doesn't want her to see him like this, a little messed up over another woman. Plus, it would certainly free him up to go back to Connecticut, at least in a romantic sense. Either way, he can't really manage to re-coat himself in the easy going acceptance of the future laid out before him now. It's one without the right amount of color. It isn't the way he wants his world to look and he's having a hell of a time grasping the very legitimate goodbyes they said.

And hey, he's not an idiot. It's too little, too late. He can't stop the things he's set in motion now without a really good reason to do it. He's been waiting for a long time, years even, and he's never been handed a reason. For as much of a gambler as he was, he's become an investor now. He'd thought what he was putting into a college relationship, the nickels and dimes and quarters of patience and space while she figured herself out, he'd thought it would add up to something. Instead, he's on a transatlantic flight with a pocket full of change (and keys) and a heart full of disappointment. He's heading home to another woman and she's… he doesn't know. He doesn't think she does either.

She has this way of falling apart completely and rebuilding herself and he wants to watch. He wants to be a part of it.

He wants her to let him be a part of it.

But he can't bring himself to beg. He doesn't know how to do this, never has when it comes to her. Girls like Odette are easy; they expect a setup, a date, then another date, and a succession of time before a kiss, and then you sleep together, and then talk about marriage. Then there's a prenup, a proposal, an engagement party… the rules are set. He can do those. Contrary to years of headmasters and deans saying otherwise, he can follow rules. He can tie his tie, and wear two shoes that match, and do the dances. It's always been a little more fun when there's a bit of a mess, though. It's always been a little more fun when there's a Gilmore involved.

One in particular.

(He doesn't have the hots for Lorelai or anything. Just a healthy appreciation for her daughter – and a strong belief she's as much different from Rory as she is like her.)

He's still a little stunned that won't be the case for him anymore, still wishing he could find a time machine or the perfect words or something. He's still wishing he had the courage to speak up, to put himself out there and take a risk. He just doesn't know how receptive she would be and that's a key piece of information. He needs to have at least a rough idea what the return on the investment would be. Given the number of times she's called and hung up lately, the number of times she's tried to stop what they were doing or break it off or cancelled plans doesn't give him a lot of faith. What he has might not be the same, nowhere near as interesting or fun, but he knows what he's getting in return. It's not a bad deal by any means.

It's just also not his first choice.

She's never really given him the choice. If she did, she'd be it. He knows it and he thinks she knows it, too.

(This is going to kill him, at least on the inside.)

* * *

This wasn't the plan. She knows that and she's sure he knows it, too. Well… wherever he is while he's off getting married. Actually, she knows where he is. That has never, not once been the problem. There have been plenty of problems over the course of their long history, some his and some hers, but not knowing where someone is wasn't the issue. Even if a lot of their arrangement was _when we're together, we're together_.

She's taking stock and realizing just how much of that was bullshit all along.

By taking stock, she means she's staring at a pro/con list that hasn't changed in about four hours even though she's got the stunning visual of two pink lines that she swears are burned into her retinas moving every time she blinks.

Her mom was surprisingly unhelpful, but Rory has decided to cut her some slack. After years of _I've got this under control_ , there was a night that apparently it wasn't under control. That's not entirely surprising considering she was just drunk enough to not know they were in New Hampshire until someone told her.

As is always the case with them, things went so fast and are a little blurry, a little hazy, and thinking on it makes her dizzy. If she had to place bets, she'd lay the blame at an even 50/50. It's a little disconcerting not to know exactly. Her mom knows exactly and her mom was a lot younger and a lot less experienced.

At any rate, that isn't the subject matter of the pro/con list. To tell or not to tell, that is the question. It's been radio silence from him since New Hampshire, which is what she told him would be the case. She thought about sharing the 'first three chapters' accomplishment, but she didn't want to hear anything about his life. That seems like a solid reason not to call. It's a little painful to watch everything slow down and yet be so unable to stop the train wreck. It was all self-preservation. Now, though, everything has flipped on its head and she can't decide which way is 'pro' and which way is 'con.'

Lane works through about four 'oh boys' before she she breathes, looks at Rory, and bypasses the obvious _what would Lorelai Gilmore do?_ joke. It lost some of its shine anyway when her mom decided the hyphenate her last name, thus breaking the joy of their names being mostly the same.

"I'm not the person you should be asking this stuff," Lane finally manages. To her credit, she turns the white phone – the only one, now – off before she hands it over. The stress relief of no accidental dialing is a little too cutesy and acute. "I know you're trying to quit him, but this overrides that."

"I'm glad you didn't say 'trumps,' because I'll probably never look at that word the same way again," Rory jokes, trying to deflect even more. She stares at her phone and wonders if she's somehow managing to dial across the pond through the black screen.

"You will be great. You've got too many good examples around you not to be," Lane points out. "But leave it up to him whether you're going it alone or not."

She's still staring at her phone as she listens to Lane's comfort and council. She's infinitely glad her crazy life and breakneck pace have slowed and have led her back home for all of this. She honestly can't imagine Paris being anything but _tough love, baby._ That's fine and well, and has served her at some point during all her wandering, but it isn't what she needs right now. What she needs is her oldest friend. She thanks whatever lucky stars she's got that she has what she needs while she makes impossible decisions.

* * *

He's bored with this. It's absolutely not the first time he's thought as much, either.

He isn't really the most romantic guy and he knows that. Sure, he can plan rooftop surprise dinners and eyeball a girl's gown size to provide her with a ballgown she isn't expecting, but that's really just contingencies more than anything else. He's never been the sort of person who spent time in abstract thought about a girl he liked or enjoyed the company of. Even with Rory, anything he did was an elaborate ruse that just allowed him to spend time near her. He was just as okay with sleeping in, waking up in the same bed and pretending they were going to go anywhere else that morning. Still, he doesn't dress things up in his mind, make them more than they are, or daydream fantastical scenarios. He's not that romantic. Making marriage sound like a business deal, thanks to hammering out a prenup with a team of attorneys and all four of their parents present – it's still almost depressing. And it's boring. It sucks the fun right out of it.

So he's been staring out the window, refusing to engage really, and he just generally doesn't give a fuck. He doesn't want to be here and it shows.

When they get to the section on deal breakers, he sits up and pays attention. It's just in time to see the knowing look from Odette as they discuss whether or not infidelity is, in fact, a dealbreaker. If he weren't so good at playing things off, turning them into a little bit of a joke proportional to their amount of gravity, he'd loop his finger through where his tie is secured around his neck. He'd show some sort of tell. He keeps his hands in his lap and his eyes on hers.

"That won't be an issue," he cuts in quietly.

 _Not_ because he's a good person. Not because he doesn't want to be like his father.

Because there's only one person in the world he _wants_ like that and she doesn't want him back. So it doesn't matter anymore. He's settling and he knows it as he makes the promise. He wishes maybe he were a little braver. For the right girl, he would be. He could be.

He won't.

They agree that illegitimate children are the dealbreaker, the point at which all bets are off. Babies are the only real threat to the life he's supposed to want. If he's honest, he isn't sure he wants those anyway. He loves being an uncle, but that might be as far as he wants to take it. It's kind of strange to realize he hasn't made a firm decision on that as he's sitting at a table with lawyers talking about property, houses, cars, servants, family holidays, and what percentage of what goes to whom.

All he knows is he doesn't want _this_. Well, that's not strictly true. He knows what he wants, too, he just can't have it. It has a strange way of throwing what he does have into question. All he can do is look out the window, keep one ear on the promise being made in his name to buy a new car once a year or something, and sigh.

* * *

Rory isn't exactly a gun-toting Boy Scout. She likes to be well-armed for any situation, but she does that with facts and sensible shoes and sexy underwear. She doesn't do well with being knocked off-balance because she'd rather be prepared.

Somehow in the last six weeks, after seeking counsel from her mother and her best friend, she's wound up feeling supported and somehow less than prepared for this very moment. She's been too distracted to work on the book. Since her grandmother sold the house, and she's without that particular emotional conduit unless she puts on her people skills and hope the new occupants have a sense of humor _and_ and affinity for cigars, she's been a bit slower with the process. The invitation to Nantucket was both appreciated and nerve-wracking, knowing she'd have news to bear. Writing with the thankfully not life-sized portrait of Richard looking on has the potential to be inspirational. Telling her grandmother she's thirty-two, out of a solid job, and pregnant – that's less inspirational and more terrifying. They haven't tackled sexual subjects since she was exiled from the poolhouse into the main house when she was on college sabbatical, and even then it wasn't exactly discussed. It was more of a stare over breakfast, an "I know you know I know" stare that was more uncomfortable than the actual sex talk had ever been. She doesn't necessarily want to get into the details now, either, but she can't pretend she doesn't know who the father is. Questionable one-time sex with a Wookie aside, she's not that slutty. There's no way Emily Gilmore would buy that she was.

It goes better than she thought it would, though Emily points out his wedding is coming up and she probably should at least tell him before that date. Although she's dropped out of Hartford society since Richard's death, some things had slipped through the cracks as Emily sold the house and moved. One of them was the 'save the date' for a springtime Paris wedding with a familiar name, and Emily's steel trap of a mind remembered at least that much in spite of not paying attention.

(Rory always thought the genetic components of her intellect came from her grandfather. She wasn't entirely right, she learns during the trip. Grandma is shrewd and has an incredibly long memory, even when she isn't trying to find things to use against people.)

There is nothing about freezing her ass off, overlooking the Nantucket sound from a weather-beaten deck on the back of a beautiful house she otherwise has to herself, that makes her feel prepared or safe to impart information. She finds herself wishing she could have a glass of Afternoon Sherry with her grandmother before she places the call, but she can't.

She stares at her phone for a long time, at the shape of it resting against her lap. He's never not answered when she called. There's something in that. No matter how upside down he was, when he was running away after a bad business deal or promising to marry someone who wasn't her – he's always answered her call. Or he's called her back with an explanation in a reasonable amount of time. No matter what time of day she finally gets up the guts to reach out, no matter how they left things, he'll answer. She knows it. She just doesn't know what to do with it because then she'll have to talk to him.

Christopher gave her a lot to think about, and she didn't tell her grandmother or her mother about that conversation. His steady reassurance that everything had worked out as it should was belied a little by the desperation of the reassurance that he loves her. While he hadn't known how to deal with an unplanned baby, or her emotional tornado of a mother, when he was just sixteen, he hadn't deserved to be unilaterally removed from the entire process the way he was. He hadn't necessarily wanted that and, if she was reaching, she thought maybe she'd seen some residual heartbreak there, too. How would their lives have been different if he'd been allowed a choice, been allowed to decide exactly what his role would be?

Could she bear to run into Logan at some point down the road, then see and hear all that in his voice? Could she really feed the insecure monster that lay inside him, only occasionally rearing its head when he was in the company of precious few, that sounded like Mitchum and told him he'd never be good enough for anything he was handed? That's what cutting him out would do. That was what had been done to her own father by her mother's independence and stubbornness. Would she repeat the cycle?

She isn't prepared to answer that question. She isn't prepared to call or to have him answer. Even a stunning view of calming water can't help her or push her, so she sits there and looks at the shape of everything and wondering how it's possible it looks so different now. Everything does. It'll never be the same again.


	2. but i'll mistake the station birds

**a/n: Thank you for the kudos, bookmarks, feedback, and conversations. I'm really glad there's an audience for this and I'm flattered you think I'm doing it well. I hope this chapter especially lives up to your expectations. I'm now about 11,000 words into writing this and there's not really an end in sight, so I can't say how many more chapters to go or anything. All I will say is I may have barely scratched the surface on the story my brain and my words want to tell. I hope at any rate that you all enjoy it. Please let me know! The conversation and different points of view keep me going.**

 **disclaimer: I don't own anything. I mean that in a general sense as well as related to the Gilmore Girls franchise, Netflix, and anything else I accidentally borrowed in the making of this chapter. The chapter title and additional inspiration provided by the excellent song 'Empire Builder' by Laura Gibson.**

* * *

 **chapter 2: but I'll mistake the station birds for the sound of my phone ringing**

In spite of the appearance of their spur-of-the-moment outing to Stars Hollow, none of the former Life and Death Brigade members are as free as they used to be. They have the means to get around on short notice, sure, but on the whole they're a lot more settled and a little less wild. That's no more true for anyone than it is for Logan. For better or worse, given the fact that he stands to inherit a monetary figure that makes him a little sick and a large publishing empire, his father and grandfather have always reined him in more than his friends' families have kept them on a leash. He has more pressure, more focus, more expectation. He's grown up the most out of the bunch of them.

What this means is he's not particularly used to unexpected middle-of-the-night phone calls. He's had some work projects lately, but nothing that demands a three a.m. conference call, though because of those he leaves the ringer on just in case. And since all the time zone confusion with Rory a few months ago, he hasn't had any social calls that late. Even Colin and Finn have gradually learned better because he doesn't answer for them after midnight (London time, that is.)

All of this considered, he doesn't even look when the phone rings now, just blindly fumbles for it before it can wake Odette, and then stumbles out into the living room, eyes mostly closed, as he presses it to his ear. "Hello?"

The fragile voice coming across the ocean and sending him back to a particular phone call, when Richard Gilmore had his first heart attack, makes him wish he'd been a little more aware.

"Hello? Logan?"

If it were biologically possible, he'd think the bottom fell out of his stomach, or maybe by the intensity of the feeling in his chest, he'd think his stomach had turned itself upside down and inside out, spilling acid onto his organs and lighting him on fire. Something's wrong and he can tell just because of the way she says those two words, and the time of night she's calling him.

And the fact that they said their goodbyes almost four months ago. There's that, too. Those two words cutting across that radio silence, times four months, is agonizing. Why is she calling him again? What could possibly be so wrong that she'd reach out now?

And is there anything that would stop him from responding? Probably not.

"Who were you trying to call?" He asks. Trying, and mostly failing he thinks, to make it light. His voice is made of midnight gravel and tempered by the realization they were trying to give each other up. That's what she wanted.

"What time is it there? I know it's the middle of the night, but I had to call now because it was now or never."

He drops himself onto the couch, the one she helped him pick and draped herself over like it was home, and sighs as he looks at the clock across the room. The numbers the only real, unfiltered illumination in the entire expanse of space.

"Just after three in the morning," he confirms. He is fully awake and alert now, but not in the mood for pleasantries really. Well, he can always do pleasantry with her, but he'd rather cut to the chase. They aren't really in a place in life where she can call in the middle of the night for no reason. As of late, there haven't been any reasons. "What's going on?" He barely bites back the reflexive tacking on of her nickname from him. She doesn't want to hear it. Maybe it's a little childish, a little injured, but he doesn't want to give it to her, either.

Man, though, her pause really doesn't do the burning-chest, inside-out-stomach situation any favors. All his other senses have come alive, too, and he's a little on edge. He thinks he managed to keep that anxiety out of his voice, but who knows? Rory has always been perceptive.

"Do you remember when we were talking about going to Asia and, in honor of it, we got really drunk on sake and tried to make our own sushi? We spent half the night chopping…" she trails. Her voice is no less fragile, but it has some warmth. He can't be an ass and ask her to get to the point when she sounds almost happy.

He sighs and, against all judgment, smiles a little. "And the other half of the night in the emergency room because you tried to cut off your fingertip," he contributes. His mind isn't really traveling back to that night. It can't. He can still barely breathe and his mind, as a result, is stuck in a vice grip of present-time curiosity.

"Yes," she says, sounding just a little more sure. "And do you remember me making you change the bandages because I couldn't stand to look at the cut? You teased me about _ripping off the Band-Aid_ even though there were stitches and it wasn't a Band-Aid."

Okay, his mind commits for a brief flash and he relaxes slightly. He chuckles. "You didn't even flinch just a few months later when I had a lot more bandages that I couldn't change," he points out dryly. "Even then, you were one of the toughest people I knew in some ways. It really didn't jive with the visual of you stretching your whole arm toward me and literally putting your other hand over your eyes while you begged me to change it for you."

She exhales and he can hear it and, somehow, he knows the brief respite from tension is over. It's confirmed just a moment later when he hears her speak again. "I'm still not good at ripping off the Band-Aid when I know what's underneath will suck."

He wants to hate himself for his immediately supportive response. All he's ever wanted was for her to be ready – ready to rip off Band-Aids, ready to hold still or, even better, ready to move in the same direction as him at the same time he's doing it. He can't prevent himself from saying it, though. "Can I make what's underneath it suck a little less? Is that why you're calling?"

"I don't know," she admits in that wobbly voice he wants to wrap in a warm blanket and hold close to him, just because it would mean she was safe for a minute. He stands up because he needs to pace or something. Maybe he should go out onto the balcony and let the cool late-winter night settle down the way all of his nerves are on edge, firing at will and keeping him on edge. He might, depending on what else she says.

"Ace…" he finally drags out, his voice low and slow to hide the impatience. So much for that. He heads for the balcony because the longer she pauses, the worse he feels about this.

"I'm sorry," she replies almost immediately. He wasn't sure if she was crying before. The wobbly voice could go either way. Now, though, he's sure she is. "I was going to leave you alone and let you have your life. You're setting it up the way you want it and I never really wanted to be the _other woman_."

Once the door is securely shut behind him, and he's at least halfway sure he isn't locked out, he lets himself admit something out loud that he shouldn't, especially given the way they ended things.

"You never were," he says, his voice low and soothing in a way that will help her stop crying if there's a God who doesn't hate him. (He doesn't think there is.)

"You're _engaged_ ," she's quick to point out, her voice sharpening. He can't back down from that any more than he can ignore the wobble or the upset.

"I asked you first," he volleys back. "You weren't ready to settle down. You wanted to go build your career. You chose that over me and I understand, but I wasn't allowed that luxury, Rory. At a certain point, I have to get married. It's more like a business deal than love. In order to be taken seriously, at my age, I have to switch my focus – and yes, that's a quote straight from Mitchum. But it's _working_. Isn't that sick? My career is better than ever now because I don't have the appearance of a Dickens character."

"Scrooge?" She asks and it completely derails him. He pinches his nose between his fingers in frustration. She still hasn't said why she called. They're supposed to be adults; he thinks they might've been better at these kinds of conversations when they were kids in college.

"Rory…"

She sighs. "Rip off the Band-Aid?"

"Yeah. That'd be nice." He almost wants to thank her, though, because his frustration was a nice distraction from all the tension in their conversation. He can't make himself before she speaks in what he'll have to assume is a sudden and brief charge of courage.

"I'm pregnant."

Most people wouldn't believe it, but he's never actually had this conversation. He's never heard those words, directed at him. His visceral reaction isn't as strong as he would've imagined. Ice floods through him, neutralizing everything that was on fire. The result is a wash of numbness. His ears might be ringing. He isn't sure. He thinks it best to keep his mouth shut for a minute or two for the sake of processing.

She wouldn't just call him at random to tell him this. She's only ever told him things when she wanted or needed his support. She's only ever told him things that were his to know. No, not every word out of her mouth has had a direct effect. He used to know her thoughts on everything from Top 40 to the change in obituary formatting in the ProJo. When it comes to important things, though, she's not gossipy. If she wanted advice, she would go to Lane or Paris. She only brings things to him when she wants his support and insight. When she _needs_ him.

It's been four months since they were together – just over. When they'd become a couple, and when they lived together, they had talked through all sorts of things that would be awkward for other people. He knew then she was on top of things like birth control. She paid regular attention to her own body. That isn't to say he didn't contribute at all, but she was on top of her stuff and he was on top of his and they had a dialogue to make sure they were on top of it as a sexually active couple. In other words, he's pretty sure she's known this for a while. She also wouldn't be telling him if he wasn't the father. He's not going to do something insulting to her, like ask how this happened or if she's sure. With the amount of time that's passed, she's sure. And he was there, that night in New Hampshire at the bed and breakfast Colin can't sell for the life of him. Logan may have been drunk, but he remembers and they weren't all that careful. _Once_. Because he's not an idiot, he'd brought condoms. Because she's her, she'd been on the Pill forever and he strongly doubts she ever missed one. At least once, though, mutual passion got the better of them and… He knows exactly how, when, and where this happened.

"Logan?" She asks, her voice small and uncertain. He doesn't know how long it's been since he spoke, since she spoke, but he can't imagine this is any less intense and uncertain on her end than it is on his.

"I'm here," he answers almost immediately. It's a response to her saying his name, but it's more than that. It has to be. He doesn't know what else to say. Maybe _that's_ what he should say. "I don't know what else to say. Can I sit with this for a day and call you back?"

"You don't have to call me back. Unless… you want to. You have a life. You're engaged. Paris in the Spring sounds idyllic for a big, expensive wedding. I just wanted you to know."

He doesn't like how quiet her voice is. He does like that it isn't certain, and he likes that he knows her well enough to recognize that, even through the cacophony rioting in his head as it catches up to what's actually happening.

"I want to call you back. I may not know exactly what to do, but I know what not to do – I'm not going to pretend this isn't happening. I'm not going to leave you alone to deal with all this. We did this together, so we're _in_ this together. Okay?"

"Okay, but Logan, please realize I have a good example of how to do this myself and I promise I won't leave our baby in a bucket. You know, should you just follow the path you've set. It'll be easier."

He offers a wicked grin and ignores most of what underlies her words because he wants to. He's always known she doesn't _need_ him and it's been both exhilarating to be with her anyway and a little painful to admit when he thinks he needs her to feel like he's actually _alive_. (He also ignores the comment about a bucket because that isn't a story he's heard before.)

"Where's the fun in that?"

Her responding laugh is a little soggy around the edges and he's reasonably sure he hears her sniffle. "Why am I not surprised to hear you say that?"

"Because you know me, Ace. And I know you. I know you could do it on your own, and you know I don't want you to. Just… give me a day. Please."

"I can do that," she agrees. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. I know you don't know this from experience, and neither do I, because we've never tangoed, but they do say it takes two," he teases lightly. He's as surprised as anyone that he's smiling when he says that. He's going to blame her, because the smiling is usually hand-in-hand with talking to her.

"That they do." She sounds maybe just a little bit brighter than she did a minute ago. It gives him a small sense of peace, in spite of the fact that she just shook his life up and turned it upside down. He's not sure he'll have peace again for a long time otherwise, so he'll take it. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, then."

He's glad to save the dance of tomorrow your time/tomorrow my time as he agrees quietly and hangs up. The temperature out, and the fact that he's wearing only thin pants and a t-shirt, give him no pause as he turns and sinks to the ground on the balcony. In spite of his vaguely calm façade to her, and the reassurances he gave, he has no idea what he's going to do in any specific terms.

Underneath it all, though, is a vague sense of relief that he has no business feeling and no capacity to explain.


	3. hurry up and find me again

**a/n: I'm still a little overwhelmed by the response to this. Thank you for the reviews and the conversations. It's definitely kept me writing and this has turned into much more of a journey than I originally thought it would.** **Also, I apologize for not having worked out the timing a little better than I did when I started. I have a handle on it now, but there may be a few small indiscrepancies that I don't catch.**

 **disclaimer: as it turns out, I still own nothing. I'll put all this back where I found it when I'm done. Chapter titles and inspiration are from 'Empire Builder', a song written and owned by Laura Gibson. It's beautiful. You should go listen to it while you read if you haven't. The official lyric video is one of my favorite things.**

* * *

 **chapter 3: so hurry up and lose me, hurry up and find me again**

Somehow, she feels better just having talked to him. She starts making progress on her book at her grandmother's house, under her grandfather's painted watchful eye. She doesn't call anyone and mostly tries to ignore the fact that it's been at least twelve hours and her phone hasn't rung. It hasn't made a peep. Not even a beep. She's checked the volume four times.

(In the last fifteen minutes. Hush.)

When she says she's made progress on her book, she means she's messed with the line spacing and tried out six different fonts. She ended up back on the one she started with.

As important as the book was – _is_ – to her, telling the story of her past pales in comparison to the new, shaky vision she's developing of her future. She keeps telling herself over and over that her situation is very different from the one her mother faced. Other than the number of years she's lived, it doesn't feel that much different. She's never cared for precarious and, right now, she has buckets of it.

She's not with her child's father. At least in her dad's case, the parents were on the same continent. At least, she's pretty sure he didn't flee to Europe or anything when he found out. February-ish would be an awkward time to do that for a kid in high school. It wouldn't go unnoticed. Anyway, that's a commonality. She doesn't have a job. She doesn't even have an apartment. Her mother at least had a regular, steady home. She's willing to bet her mother could find her underwear. If Lorelai didn't want to, that's another issue and not a conversation she wants to have.

As she starts comparing and contrasting, it's enough like a pro/con list (ways she's like her mother, ways she's different) that she actually does start writing.

* * *

Even if he didn't get much sleep and his world was completely rocked in the wee hours, he can't just check out of the day. He has things to do, meetings to attend, and people to show up for. His mind is present for exactly none of it, which he knows is the case by breakfast. By lunch, he's had the disheartening realization there's no one he can turn to, no source of advice, and definitely no source of comfort. Not until he and Rory have a few details sorted out. He knows by dinner time, though, that he isn't ready to talk to her about it, either. He sends her a text, a ' _Still processing. I will call'_ so she doesn't think he's forgotten or he isn't paying attention.

Oddly enough, it's Finn he thinks will probably kill him. While all of his friends got along well with Rory and she blended seamlessly into that group, a regular in a way none of their other girlfriends ever were, Finn had a soft spot for her. Colin would tell him to throw a bunch of money on it and then burn through his starter wife like he's going to do anyway. Robert would probably just ask if he could take over as the baby daddy or something because he's always liked Rory a little too much in a way that still to this day makes Logan want to hit him.

He continues paging through his phone, but the list is just as barren as he suspected, really. Honor will be a good source of support at some point, he's sure, but he isn't ready to out this to his family. That also puts his dad out, who would tell him probably something similar to what Colin would say, just with more lawyers involved. His lawyer isn't his friend and would find a way to tell Mitchum before they were even off the phone. His coworkers now are fine, but he hasn't really formed a relationship of any kind with them because he's got the mantle of being the owner's son – the mantle he never really wanted. He likes the work and he definitely likes the money, he just doesn't like the association.

Odette is a no for obvious reasons and, really, they've never had a conversation deeper than fun facts about each other's pasts. He hasn't more than mentioned Rory as his college girlfriend. He never said anything about love and he sure as hell didn't mention a proposal that went bust.

Part of him wants to reach out to people Rory knows. Luke practically raised her. Her father, while not close and the whole divorce thing he knows made for some weird situations, would have a uniquely accurate perspective. He doesn't even know if she still talks to the guy, though, let alone if she's told him the latest news. There is no way in hell he is calling a man up and beginning a conversation about how he hasn't seen the guy in forever but _guess who knocked up your daughter._ He remembers her friend Lane being very kind, having a friendly smile and a charming demeanor, but he only met her a handful of times. He would love Lorelai's opinion, much like he always regarded her highly and wanted her approval, but the last thing he wants to hear from her is that he should butt out because he's done enough, that she and Rory will handle it.

Eventually, he looks at the clock and realizes it's his nephew's naptime in Connecticut and Honor will be available. In spite of his reluctance, she's the only option he has. He hasn't been very good about pretending to build a pretend life.

He doesn't keep her on the phone for long. It doesn't take her long to explain all the different ways he's a little bit of an idiot anyway. He shouldn't be marrying Odette if he loves Rory, she says. He should shoot for happiness because the baby will force her to slow down and focus her career ambitions a little better than she has over the last decade. If he wants Rory, he should go get her. It shouldn't have taken this to force it, but whatever. Those are her words, not his. Honor has learned firsthand that being a parent – actually being one rather than being like their parents – isn't all good or all bad. It isn't a magic cure, but it can make your life more fun and keep you young.

"Anything," she says seriously, "to help you lose the patterned shirt and paisley tie combo you like to wear. I do not care if the colors are similar, it's _wrong_."

That and some Scotch, at the office instead of at home, give him the courage he was missing.

* * *

It would be a lie to say his text wasn't disappointing, but it was appreciated. Those two things shouldn't go together and she doesn't want to ever have to think ' _at least he..._ ' for things that are small courtesies in the face of bigger disappointments. She spent way too long doing that with her dad. _At least he called_ , even though he didn't show up. _At least he stayed away,_ because I couldn't count on him not to ruin everything and I asked him to stay away.

It probably sounds stupid and isn't something she'll ever admit out loud, but it isn't until her hand rests against her barely-detectable expanding midsection with a vow that she'll never excuse Logan's behavior to this child, she realizes she's keeping the baby. Although an advocate of a woman's right to choose, she'd never considered anything beyond the black of keeping the child or the white of giving the child away. In one tiny, huge moment, she knows where she stands.

She _can_ do this. She _will_ do this.

And it doesn't matter if he doesn't call.

But then the phone finally rings so, you know, it's good to have options. Maybe she also a magic trick if that's what putting her hands as close to the baby-like development will do. She'll test it out later to see if she can make a publisher of some kind call her.

That doesn't mean she avoids thinking, just once and quickly, that she wonders where the hell he is as he's making this call. She's just assuming he isn't at home.

"Bodega down the street?" Is actually how she answers. She can actually picture the look on his face, knowing he'll be amused. He's pressing his lips together so hard his cheekbones stand out a little more, trying to avoid an obvious smile.

"My office," he clarifies. There is laughter in his voice. "Speakeasy in the city?"

She graces him with a small laugh. "My grandmother's house on Nantucket."

"I didn't know Emily had a house on Nantucket." Small talk is easy. He still doesn't know what he's going to say about the things that loom large.

"It's new. Well, the house isn't new, but it's new to her. She's been here for almost six months, I guess. She's making furtive movements toward the neighboring property, so I almost dare to call it a compound."

"I'm picturing her moving in with a conquering Risk army to take over," he remarks as he subtly finishes the last of his Scotch. He's sure Rory probably needs a good, stiff drink and she can't exactly have one. It doesn't seem fair if he drunk-fumbles his way through this mess when she has to go it sober.

"That's not wholly inaccurate," she supplies, her voice still light and lovely. "She's working at a whaling museum as a docent. I'm sure that comes with access to harpoons."

"That is a really scary thought." He says it with a chuckle, but he's not completely kidding and his next question has some serious undertones. "Does she know about all of this yet?"

The furtive-sounding movements he hears, and the volume of her voice, do not match her _yes_. For some reason, picturing her sneaking through a giant, creaky house to evade her grandmother endears her to him even more than she already was. He waits for her to speak again. When she does, her voice is lower and a little uncertain. "So…you've got to have some thoughts."

He lets out a short breath, but to his credit, it's not a sigh. "Yes. I have some thoughts." He can't believe he's still wearing his tie and he hooks his finger into it to work the knot loose. Those are thoughts. He doesn't give those ones voice, though, knowing that isn't what she means. "Let's do this. I have no idea how it'll work, but we have time to figure it out. Let's do it."

"You know I don't exactly have a choice, right?" She's not totally serious, though, he can tell.

"I haven't lived in London so long I missed the Supreme Court reversing _that_ ," he teases back. "You did have a choice. You didn't have to tell me. I'm glad you did. And I'm in. I just have to figure out what that will mean. It'll be a mess, and it won't be easy, but I'm in."

If there is a definition of a loaded silence, its what passes between them on the phone in the moments after he finally gets those words out. Even with as precarious as his situation has just become with that particular vow, he feels a little more at ease than he has since three o'clock this morning.

"Can we figure out what it means together?" She finally asks. If he's not mistaken, he can hear the emotion in her voice break as she continues. "Because I've talked to my mom, and I've talked to my dad, and I just…I don't want to figure all of this out alone. I _could_ , and I would. I swear I'm not asking you for anything, but…"

"We can figure out it out together." He sits back in his chair. "Your dad knows?"

"Not exactly. I asked him about when my mom decided to go it alone, under the guise of writing my book so it was topical and easy to avoid details. He isn't going to shoot you on sight or anything." She's sniffling and sounds amused at the same time. He's wondering if maybe his sister wasn't alone in the hair trigger emotions she's experienced with each of her three pregnancies. The fun thing was it took different hairs to trigger different things each time. Oddly, he's looking forward to piecing it all together now for someone he cares about in such a different way than he cares about Honor.

"That's good. What's the general feel of the rest of the Gilmore contingent? I know how important Lorelai's input in particular is to you," he asks seriously. "I think square one is making sure she's okay with what we decide here. I'm just assuming you want to be in Stars Hollow as much as possible."

"The support would be nice," she admits. "My mom is working on maybe expanding her inn, so she can't really travel much right now. But…"

"No buts, Ace. If that's what you want, I'll defer in that case. I don't know if I want to raise a family there, but for now at least we'll make it happen. The rest we can sort out later." He recognizes the voice he's using now. He didn't notice when he'd slipped into it, but it's a voice he only uses with her and he recognizes it by the time he's finished. "I'm right in the middle of a project at work, so even if I find a way to move back, there will be some hefty commuting. I like the idea of you being close to your mom when I'm not there if you need something. And I think there are probably a lot of times you'd rather have her around than me."

She issues a laugh that sounds still relieved but still watery. "That's… thank you, Logan. That's not even a compromise. That's you giving me my way, before I asked, actually." She hesitates after that and he understands why she took a moment to steel her voice when she poses a question. "Are you still getting married?"

His laugh is disbelieving, humorless, and short. "No," he says. As bad as it may be, he hadn't even though about that part yet, about undoing the plans he has (or at least the ones he's associated with) and the promises he's in the middle of making. While he isn't in love with Odette, clearly, he cares about her. It's not going to be a particularly easy or pleasant process to stop and undo the lives they've been starting to tangle together. He's survived harder things in a relationship, though. Apparently, it takes him a while to think through that because his pause earns an uncertain call of his name, a hesitant question. "I'm here, sorry. I don't know exactly how that will all work out, but I _will_ work it out. Mitchum will be here again at the end of the week, so I'll speak with him and go from there where the legalities are concerned."

"There are _legalities_ involved already? You're not married _now_ , are you?" She asks. "If the answer to that is yes, we need to have a very different conversation."

"I'm not married," he says quickly. "No. We signed the prenup last week, so there are some things involved. They're probably technicalities more than problems, though. I'm sure I have to sign something. It'll be boring. I'll let you know when it's done." He arches an eyebrow even though she can't see it. Part of him wants to suggest they Skype or FaceTime so he can see her face. Part of him doesn't want her to see how tired he actually is. "Weren't you seeing someone as well? I obviously never got details but I thought you were."

"Oh, right. Old 'what's his name.' I was, but he broke up with me via text before I remembered to break up with him. I can't imagine why."

It's awful for at least three reasons, but he laughs. It's okay, he's awful, too sometimes. He's been fucking the girl he'll probably always love while he's engaged to someone else. It's awful to both of them, really.

They talk for another ten minutes or so, but don't resolve anything else, and it's still the most settled he's felt all day.

He waits until he knows Odette will be in bed before he goes home just to hold onto it a little bit longer.


	4. love songs are always the grieving kind

**a/n: Thank you again for the response to this story. It's really something and I appreciate the time each and every one of you are taking to read, reply, and discuss. I think especially the second part of this chapter might be my favorite of the story so far. Writing Lorelai is something that makes me very nervous and doubtful, so I hope you feel I got her right in some way. I did take some guidance from their interactions in season seven, even if that development seemed largely ignored in the revival.**

 **disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls. No harm or infringement is intended. Apparently I'm also not in charge of the brain space this tale is taking up. Story title and chapter titles have all come from the beautiful and haunting 'Empire Builder' by Laura Gibson.**

* * *

 **chapter 4: and you wondered why my love songs are always the grieving kind**

Rory is trying not to panic that she hasn't talked to him in a week. It isn't as though she hasn't heard from him at all. It's compounded by the fact she has the sketchiest cell phone reception ever in the Hollow. It seems like with so much going on, though, he should be making more of an effort to make contact. And they've texted, so she knows he doesn't think (or hope) she dropped off the face of the earth. He's asked how she's feeling, and she admitted to being nauseous most of the time but inexplicably craving oranges always. He made an offer to buy her an orange grove that she isn't sure was tongue-in-cheek.

He also knew she had a doctor's appointment, her second, today. Maybe it wasn't explicitly stated, but he's never needed things spelled out for him. He's actually pretty smart and, in addition to being good with innuendo, he's good at hints most of the time. Or he was. Maybe that's changed.

Though it's early, she finds her eyes starting to close around seven-thirty and she finds herself closing her computer and heading for bed. She's generally more exhausted these days, but that applies with the hour at which she's ready for bed. Neither her mom or Luke have even come home from their jobs yet and she swears they're both actually older than she is. She thinks not for the first time she should at least try to rent her own apartment or something. She thinks, not for the first time, she'll look into it tomorrow.

She misses the headlights in the driveway, or deems them insignificant, but the person visible through the door actually startles her awake. For a moment before she remembers she's in Stars Hollow and not, like, anywhere else, she debates reaching for Luke's baseball bat.

The one that's upstairs. She's resourceful, damn it. She could make it work.

Even through the distorting power of beveled glass, she makes out all the angles of Logan's head, shoulders and torso before he rings the doorbell. She actually has the grace to feel a little ashamed for doubting him. He may have fumbled through a few aspects of their ancient history relationship, but so did she and he's never really let her down or inexplicably flaked out.

"Brothel in Amsterdam?" She asks when she tugs the door open. Their suggestions for locations have gotten a little more brazen/insane with the uptick in number of calls. No, she can't really suppress her smile. This wasn't the plan, but it's the best possible violation of it.

He laughs, but he looks exhausted and it barely reaches his eyes. "I thought you referred to this as the crapshack. If it's a brothel, I might have taken a wrong turn."

She arches an eyebrow. "You look terrible. I surprised you even know where you're standing right now."

"That's not actually the worst greeting I've had in recent memory." He accepts her teasing with a lingering smile. "Am I headed before a firing squad if I ask to come inside?"

"No," she confirms, swinging the door open a little wider so he can actually come in. Everything in the way he moves is heavy and there's an unusual slope to his shoulders. She's not sure anyone else would notice it, but she does, and she doesn't like it. "I'm actually the only one home. My mom and Luke both have longer hours than I do these days."

He's both uncertain and comfortingly confident as he rests his hand against her elbow and then kisses her cheek gently before he passes. She's both brazen and hesitant as she catches him and puts her arms around his neck, burying her face and breathing him in just a little because she hasn't seen him since the last time she saw him and she thought that was the actual last time. It makes her a little dizzy to think about it all, really. That doubles when he latches onto her, too. She has no idea how long they stand there in her foyer, but it's a long time and it's so much better to see him than a phone call would have been.

* * *

Logan's entire aim was to surprise Rory and show up in time for her doctor's appointment, but his life hadn't exactly finishing burning down after he'd torched it all, so he didn't make the flight he needed to be on. His week devolved into an endless parade of berating, meetings, long 'soul searching' talks and lawyer time. He didn't say anything about it to her, planning to catch her up in person. It's only when he's standing on Lorelai's doorstep and she looks exhausted that he thinks he went about things all wrong.

After the world's longest hug, which actually feels pretty fucking fantastic, they sit together on the couch and he proceeds to explain how things went. Odette was stoic and cold, but his visit to the States is affording her time to go back to Paris. She promises her attorneys will be in touch with him and swears he just ruined his life. Mitchum is inclined to agree and offer input on why Logan and Rory will never be able to make an arrangement that works – namely because the only place he thinks Logan will continue to flourish is in London. Mitchum has nothing against Rory, quite the opposite, but he doesn't see her settling down and especially doesn't see her doing it in London.

Logan is pretty sure he falls asleep midsentence as he's explaining it all. There's a lot and she has a million questions because she's her. A hug didn't even broach the tip of that iceberg. Not a literally iceberg because she isn't freezing him out, but she wants explanations. They sit facing one another on Lorelai's striped couch with their heads pushed against the plush cushions along the back. He tells her about the conversation he had with Odette before he went to his father. That meeting was surprisingly short, because Logan was very one-note with Herr Huntzberger about wanting to be part of his child's life, part of Rory's life. He starts on the meeting with the lawyers, but he doesn't finish before he dozes off. The next thing he knows, Lorelai is waking him up and looking at him like she wasn't expecting to see a multimillionaire playboy, still wearing his leather jacket, sleeping on a couch worth less than the shoes he kicked off to pull his legs up in a mirror of Rory's posture.

That isn't arrogance. He just knows the price of things and he knows her and her disdain for the luxury he lives with like it's not a burden. It's not to him.

Also, she probably wasn't planning to find him there. It works out because he wasn't expecting to be left here.

He sits up slowly because he did more than just doze off. He was really asleep and it felt great and vaguely familiar. Now that he's waking up, he isn't comfortable at all. He digs the heel of his hand into his eye. "Hi, Lorelai. Where'd Rory go? She was… here."

"She went to bed," Lorelai answers, looking confused and maybe a little amused. "Where'd you come from? Last I heard, you were across the pond with a fancy fiancée and a fancy job."

"Two of those things are still true," he says slowly. He sighs. "One of them is still true, I guess. Rory called. I came. It wasn't quite that streamlined, but you get the idea." He shifts, still awkward and mostly asleep and he wishes Rory were here to be a buffer, though he's not selfish enough to go wake her.

He's had conversations with Lorelai before, conversations in which he thinks his work ethic and devotion to her daughter hopefully put him on her good side. He can probably survive this one. Of course, some things have gone down since then. A lot of them. A decade's worth. Nothing is really the same anymore, except that he knows how to work hard and he's devoted to Rory, and now to their baby and whatever it is they're going to try to do here.

"Got it. How long are you going to be around?" She asks.

Yeah, there's some bite to her voice now that she's waking up. The two things about him that are still true like they were eight years ago aren't going to save him. They aren't even going to help him here. Tough crowd.

"I'm… in this," he says. "As for work, I'm still sorting it out. Right now I have about a week. I'm in the middle of a project. Once it's done, I'll be more present." He absolutely isn't pointing out that he'd cleared his schedule because he was supposed to get married. He's sure she knows that, is sure Rory gave her the entire play-by-play as they lived it.

"Mmm," she says with a tight-lipped nod. There's a lot of things that aren't being said here and they're all screaming at him. He doesn't know if it'll be better to argue points or to wait for her to say what she wants to say. With Rory, it would be the first. With Lorelai, he thinks it might be the second. He stays silent. "Rory spent a lot of time waiting for her father to set other commitments aside for her. She shouldn't have to do it with you, too. She can do this on her own and it'll probably be a hell of a lot easier than waiting for someone who was willing to get married because daddy said so."

He doesn't know how much of that is from Rory. It makes him sigh and drag a hand over his face. "I can't imagine what you two went through back then. Rory has told me some, but not much. I think she's saving it for her book." An involuntary flicker happens in his mouth, almost like a smile, but too quick to be one. "Anyway, I can't imagine. I know it made the two of you solid and I'm an outsider. I get it. But what you don't know about me is I'm not my dad. I'm not Christopher. I'm _here_. I'm not going away. I have other obligations to deal with, and I will sort them out. It's going to take me some time. Rory told me she wants to be here with you while she's pregnant, so I'm going to do everything she'll let me do to make it happen. I'm going to be here as much as I can."

"Breaking off a marriage isn't fun. It isn't something to take lightly."

He nods. "I know. I already did it. The lawyers are having a field day and I'm probably going to get sued. A lot." He issues a long glance at Lorelai, trying to figure out how to explain what he wants to say to her. She's easily the most intimidating person he knows, and a lot of that is because he knows Rory gives her opinion so much weight. "My sister set me up with her. Rory and I had our… arrangement… because she wanted to be free to develop her career but she said she didn't want to completely walk away from me, either. I agreed because my life is better with her in it and, as pathetic as it probably sounds, I'll take what I can get. Whatever she's willing to give me. In the past, I rose to the occasion. In the present, I accepted a lot less than I wanted to give her space.

"The getting married stuff isn't something I can make excuses for. There are stipulations about it in my trust funds. My dad wants to retire and he doesn't feel like he can do that unless my life is set. Once he's retired, I won't be able to take off for six months because I have a kid. I won't have the flexibility I have even now, and I told him I wanted to be part of my own life in a way he never was. So, in the end, I agreed to get married because I didn't know if the person I wanted would ever be ready."

"Do you know how sad that all sounds?" She asks.

All he can do is nod. He didn't sleep as much as he probably needed to on the flight because he was thinking about all this stuff. His feelings, his history with Rory, things his sister and his father had said, and grenades Odette had launched during their conversation. Her steely calm had been fronting a lot. She knows him better than he gave her credit for and he can't deny that some of her truths hurt to hear. So yes, he knows. He's feeling the full weight of the mess he's made, and part of that is allowing Rory to do whatever she wanted while he was at least halfway in love with her.

"I suppose you get points for showing up," she finally says reluctantly. "After my daughter was relegated to the dirty mistress, that's more than I wanted to give you."

He wants to argue a bit, say Rory wasn't relegated as much as she put herself in that role. Somehow, like the time they committed a felony by joy-riding on a yacht, he doesn't think it would do any good. He can bear the blame if need be. That doesn't make him a victim, it just means he knows he isn't going to change her mind. He will always be the problem to Lorelai, at least a little. It never has been and never will be a black and white scenario. Plus, he's way more used to being the fuck up than Rory is. Lorelai will never see her that way, and for him, that's all his family has ever seen. It's going better now, it's more settled, but on some level it's still true.

It's a long pause before he speaks. "Well, I'll still take it. Thank you."

They sit there for a bit longer but don't say much else. There isn't a lot to talk about, because he can't really say what he will or won't do to Lorelai. Those are conversations he and Rory will have in the upcoming days, weeks, and months. She eventually excuses herself and leaves him sitting there, thinking. He doesn't get back to sleep.


	5. don't wait for me to walk straight line

**a/n: have some cutesy as a thank you for all of the wonderful feedback. Critical or supportive, I appreciate it all and I'm very much enjoying hearing all the different points of view here. I'm trying to reply to comments/PMs/questions, but I'm a little slow at the moment so please bear with me. I do have to apologize for cutting this off in a bit of a weird place. I tried to smooth it out a little, but the next chapter will pick up where this one leaves off from Rory's perspective. I'm writing this in one story, so deciding where to divide things is a little tricky and I think this will work the best.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls or Laura Gibson's 'Empire Builder.' I do recommend them both though, obviously.**

* * *

 **chapter 5: don't wait for me to walk a straight line**

She may have been overselling it a little when Logan asked how she was feeling and she said she was getting better, hardly nauseous at all. What she meant was she had settled easily into the routine of sickness that shot through her between breakfast and lunch and Dr. Weiss had told her it would hopefully start tapering off soon. She wasn't planning on him showing up on her doorstep to witness it firsthand.

He's actually just stepped out of the bathroom so she can brush her teeth (again) when he decides to call her out on it.

"You lied about how you're doing," he said. Damn him. She's got a toothbrush in her mouth and she can't issue denial or anything else. _Damn him_. "You're going to have to be more upfront if we're doing this. I don't want to worry about you leaving out gross details."

She spits into the sink and makes sure she doesn't have any toothpaste on her lips before she turns toward him.

"You're _you_. Of course I'm leaving out the gross details!"

He's leaning against the wall in her mother's bedroom, looking all GQ against the sage green wall, like anyone else ever looks good against that color. _Of course_ she was leaving out the gross details. He smirks at her and she wants to smack that look right off his face.

(Or kiss it off. She can't decide. Damn the app that said maybe her hormones would start getting the better of her and she would want sex again soonish. She'll show them soonish. Ugh.)

"I don't know what that means. Yes, I'm me. There's nothing I can do about that. Just because I'm me doesn't mean I don't want to know the gross things."

She's rinsing toothpaste out of her mouth, which is one of the least sexy things ever. She adds mouthwash for good measure because she just thought something about kissing the smirk off his face. She might need it unless her mom keeps self-control in a drawer here somewhere. She's met her mother and she knows that isn't the case at all. Ever.

Anyway, between the last of her toothpaste and her mouthwash, she's used every second she can to avoid this topic with him. As she turns, he takes her hand and pulls her close to him. She hugged him on arrival a couple of days ago, but they haven't been this close really since they made the baby who has her puking up Pop Tarts twice daily. The nervous flutter in her stomach reminds her that she's always considered him out of her league and he's always told her how ridiculous that idea is – both with words and actions.

"I'm a guy," he points out as he settles against her. He's a guy who just rubbed her back and held her hair out of her way so she could vomit, but he's not saying that and she's glad. "You've seen me do all kinds of gross things when I'm drunk. I've had my mouth on literally every part of your body. _This_ isn't going to be thing that scares me away or whatever ridiculous thing you're thinking."

Part of her is thinking _sex_ and remembering how good he is at that. Part of her is thinking she needs to eat. Part of her is thinking the rest of her hasn't totally caught up to the fact that he's here with her, that's he's in this with her, that he showed up in Stars Hollow without any warning or even a request.

Some of her still isn't totally aware she's pregnant, honestly. It's been a whirlwind.

She rests her hands on his arms, low and around her waist. She hasn't gained much weight. If anyone would notice, it'd be him, but he'd probably have to see her naked. She isn't sure if he's pressed against her enough to feel the small but firm bump she's getting started. Part of her wonders if he'll still think she's sexy, if he'll still want her after he's seen her have a baby – even if the baby is his. She has to shut that line of thinking down for now, though, because it's terrifying in so many ways. Not even just the ways in which she could lose him.

"I'm thinking I might be hungry," she says solemnly. "And you still look like you need coffee."

He hasn't said much about all the irons he has in the fire and that does concern her, but her mind has been flitting from one disaster to the next, from the book she's writing to the baby she's incubating, from her weight to the prenatal book she was reading that is full of awful questions. She's lacked focus to ask him where his head or his heart are at, but not the desire.

"And maybe a time machine?" She adds while his mouth is still open, before he's said anything about coffee. She said something like that once when he called her his girlfriend for the first time. She doesn't know if he remembers she'd said that or not, but it warms her to think back on it, to flashback on where they started because it's clear how far they've come.

"I don't need a time machine," he scoffs. He rolls his eyes, but he sighs and presses his arms into her lower back, pulling her a little closer. "I'm still catching up, and I'm tired, but I'm fine. I swear. I told you I was here, present, in – and I am. Have I ever said I was in and then not been in?"

She's hit with a barrage of memories, flashes of things they've been through together. Even when he was drunk and angry and walking away from her after a fight in front of Jess, he made sure she had money to pay her tab and get home. Even when they got arrested as a result of something she wanted to do, he offered to provide her with a well-established attorney. She didn't even ask him to come sit on the bathroom floor with her this morning, and yet here he is. There are more examples. She's been a lot of things because he makes her feel so damn much – but he's never left her disappointed. He's never gone back on his promises.

"No," she hedges eventually. "But you've got a lot to deal with for all this to be possible. How are you here, Logan?" Her voice is a stuttering mess, laughing without humor, disbelieving. She almost always requires more proof, and that isn't his fault. He's always provided it, in the end.

"Sheer force of will and a handful of uppers," he jokes. The sharp look she gives him makes him laugh. She's right, it's a terrible joke for no less than three reasons. He shifts his feet, somehow moves closer. "I told Odette. She's mad. I told my dad. He didn't _say_ he was disappointed, and he got me a flight out. I met with lawyers to undo the prenup and that went…" he dips his head to the side and makes a face she can't totally discern, other than to say the meeting didn't go well. He shakes his head. "Everything will be fine. With all the things you have to worry about, you do not have to worry about me. Worry about you and the baby and your book."

"And your dad… is he still…" she shakes her head. Her rules, their agreement, all of it precluded this kind of talk. She didn't entirely realize his dad was as present in Logan's life as he is until the lunch where Mitchum offered to call Conde Nast on her behalf. She wonders if that's still going on. Most of her thinks that it is, the overbearing legacy being shoved down Logan's throat, but part of her hopes not. Mitchum was only ever really interested in Logan's professional well-being. He's a hardass as a boss, but he's just an ass as a father.

Logan sighs. "When he realized I wasn't wrong about print being a dying media, he expanded – including buying the company I was a vice-president for. I ended up back in London handling a whole new division of HPG, back under the umbrella. He is _still_. As long as I show up to work, I don't think he really cares what I do with my personal life. Well… I think he's disappointed I can't put a happy face on the marriage he wants me to have. Breaking that contract has the potential to cost a lot of money."

"How?" She asks, her mind immediately trying to make sense of it. A prenuptial agreement is just that – and agreement about nuptials, made beforehand. It's all right there in the description.

He shakes his head, brings his hands up to put them on either side of her face. She doesn't know if it's so she'll stop shaking her head or so he can focus, or what. Either way, her gaze settles on him. "I don't want you to worry about it. There are a few possibilities and if any of them happen, I _will_ tell you. Just like you _will_ tell me gross details. All of them. Right?"

She nods. "Right," she confirms. She smiles, feeling a little stupid and far younger than she is. She has better focus, better coping mechanisms, than she's acting like she does. She's been his transcontinental fuck buddy for the last several years, which is an adult thing. She hasn't been demanding answers from him all along. Though their details are shifting, she doesn't need to demand anything now. It'll come together in time. Having faith isn't her specialty, but she's going to have to work on that.

He grimaces. "So… level with me then, Ace. Does the thought of my coffee make you sick?"

She forces her eyes closed and wrinkles her nose. He must've caught something on her face this morning, though she tried to school it. The admission he's forcing now is painful on many levels. "It isn't the coffee. It's the half and half. Creamy things just…" she trails off as her throat feels a little thick. It's been really weird to face facts. Black coffee is still fantastic, but milk, ice cream, yogurt, sour cream, cheese, even chocolate – all things she historically loves and gorges on – just the sight of them makes her stomach turn over.

He takes his hands off her face as he laughs a little. She doesn't know what he's laughing at, but she has the impression it's _her_. He hooks his arm over her shoulder and starts walking, taking them toward the kitchen slowly. It's only a little weird, or a lot weird, they had this conversation in her mom and Luke's bedroom. Kirk and everyone else was right, though. The tile in her mom's bathroom is easier on the knees. She's logged extensive hours of confirmatory research. "Then we'll feed you and I'll stick to black coffee. Everyone wins," he says. She doesn't point it out, but it's the least hesitant he's sounded yet. Maybe it's hormones prompting emotions she can't control, but she likes that. She likes this conversation they've just had and it builds her confidence just a little that they'll have more to come.

* * *

It's wrong that he feels a little smug he's managed to avoid telling Colin, Finn, and Robert about any of what's going on with him. They know the wedding is off, but as a group, they don't ask a lot of questions about retaining bachelorhood. They've also been too tied up, not literally in any one case as far as he knows, to get together. That all changes when he lets it slip he'll be back home at the end of January. They converge and he knows he isn't going to have a choice. He's hoping there might be a lot of alcohol involved.

His priorities have shifted over the last month, though, and he's a little surprised to find himself hurrying to get to Stars Hollow rather than hurrying to hook up with the guys. It's been almost three weeks since he saw Rory in person. They've shared phone and FaceTime as much as possible. There was a solid twenty-minute debate just the other day about whether or not it was noticeable she was pregnant from the side, or the back, or the front. According to his laptop screen, it's not. Especially not when she's wearing old Yale sweats or a baggy sweater. For some strange reason, though, he wants to touch her and see if he can tell that way.

That's another thing – touching her. It happened freely on his first trip. _Sort of_.

They've always been the couple that was a little connected in public. It's not anything overt, but his hand rests so well in the small of her back. Hers fits the curve of his bicep. He reaches over to share something on his phone and she presses her forehead to his temple while she looks and issues a quiet laugh. That closeness has always kind of been part of them. It's easy and it came back with no discussion and no real effort. He likes being close to her _obviously_.

But no one's made a move. All kisses have been to cheeks. All squeezes have been to shoulders. All hugs have seen hands above the waist only. It's a departure from the past. He's not interested in pressuring her. He is interested in where they're at in terms of a relationship.

To sum up, he wants to see her, to kiss her, and to put his hands on her stomach.

It's not weird.

He's a little bit less apprehensive about walking into Luke and Lorelai's house this time around. He's not so entitled he'll walk right in, but he doesn't look at his shoes when he knocks on the door and he doesn't fill with nerves he'll have to work to contain. He doesn't feel like he has to try too hard to be too charming so they won't shank him on the couch while he's asleep. It's kind of nice.

He narrows his eyes at her appearance when she answers the door, but he's trying not to smile at the same time. He's completely failing. She's practically yawning and, if he's not mistaken, she stole those sweatpants from him ten years ago.

"Tell me you weren't asleep on the couch even though you knew I was coming this time, Ace."

"I wasn't asleep on the couch even though I knew you were coming this time, Ace," she repeats, the last three words are blurred with a yawn. "I started off with good intentions. Chapter Seven intentions." She moves aside to let him in. Even though it's only the second time they've done this, he sets his bag down inside the door like it's a habit.

Rather than kissing her cheek like he did before, though, he breaks from one-time tradition. He kisses her on the mouth even though he tastes like airplane pretzels and cherry Coke. Without preamble or even hesitation, she melts against him, presses her tongue into his mouth like his was missing and he needed a replacement.

There's catcalling and _get a room, I know a place_ and they pull apart way sooner than they wanted to. And hey, look at that, his hand is cupping her abdomen below where her belly button sits, but above the waist of the sweatpants that look more at home on her hips than they ever did in his drawer. He'll swear if she asks that him ending up touching her skin was completely inadvertent.

"Your mom's home," he says with a smile and, if he's not mistaken, slightly warm cheeks.

"I know. Drat," she says. Her eyes dart down to his hand. He can't even make himself look decently ashamed for getting grabby. He saw more of her skin on FaceTime last week than he can see now. "What's the verdict, besides your hands are freezing?"

"I can feel a difference," he confirms. Because he has a lifetime's worth of practice with something resembling occasional tact, he doesn't point out it's because he knows her body, at the age of twenty-one or the age of thirty-one. His hands have touched her more than they've touched anyone else. He steps back, reluctantly, and his hand slides back with the rest of him. "But I _see_ nothing."

"Good, because I still need to tell Paris," she says quickly. "And if she guesses before I do…"

No, she doesn't need to finish that sentence. He has an imagination. He frowns, but it's exaggerated. He may not have dealt with Paris Gellar in years, and he mostly felt like she was a freak show, but he can handle her. She was, and still is, a good friend of Rory's, so he is willing at least. "Can we lie to her about whom the father is?"

It's hard to ignore how very weird it is to speak those words and know he's talking about himself. While he's progressed to a generic label when pressed by general conversational needs, rather than 'it' or something completely inappropriate, it's usually _the baby_. He's been very careful about the lines he draws with himself and he's kept personal pronouns out of it thus far. 'The' instead of 'my.' Tiptoeing over that line faces a reality he doesn't want to deal with just yet.

It becomes really difficult to do so when, at her doctor's appointment, they find out they're having a healthy (so far) baby boy.

 _My son_ is echoing through his mind when he meets Colin and Finn for drinks. He's totally okay with Robert not being there and he feels like he's taking advantage of Rory offering to be the designated driver for him like they're back in college again. The echoing – a mix of reminders about his own status as a son and the proprietary statements of his father—is almost as loud as her questioning what she's going to do _with a boy_ as he drove them back from the ultrasound. He's quiet while he nurses his Scotch, still not really wanting to drink in front of her and not bothering to explain why he's refraining, and trying to contain the way his head is full of doubts about himself and his ability. If it were just about committing to Rory, that would be easy. She makes that easy, makes him better. It's not, though, because all of a sudden there are _three_ of them to consider. More than ever, he knows it will be a disaster if he messes this up and, now, he feels the pressure.

He still doesn't touch his Scotch because he knows it isn't going to help.


	6. you never liked it when i'd play dead

**a/n: I was initially planning to leave the LDB scene to stand alone, but the second part of this chapter seems to flow with it so well in explaining Logan's thoughts and situations that I put them together. This is a touch longer than they have been, but hopefully you guys won't mind. Thank you again for the attention this story has received. I'm not quite caught up on some of the conversations yet, but please know I'm enjoying them and I'm really beyond thrilled with the comments, criticisms, supports, and chats. It's been great and is absolutely fueling both my writing and my update pace.**

 **disclaimer: Sixth verse, same as the first one through five. That doesn't rhyme but oh well.**

* * *

 **chapter 6: you never liked it when i'd play dead**

She's keeping an eye on him, but he's not giving her anything to work with.

Part of her is surprised he hasn't mentioned anything to Colin, Finn, or Robert. They're his closest friends in the world and this is all big news. She's trying very hard not to have an attack of insecurity, but he's unintentionally feeding it by being so… him. On the outside, he's so calm, seems so sure. While he's not moving particularly fast, doesn't know what to do immediately and keeps asking her for pauses she's more than willing to provide, he's steady. And yet, there are little tells. He's never been an exceptionally great bluffer at poker, or particularly closed off to her, but now she doesn't know what some of these tells mean. By not telling his boys, she thinks maybe he's still hesitating. Then there's the dichotomy of his certainty with her, and Lorelai based on what Lorelai said, that he's in this as far as she will let him be. She doesn't know how to read it and it's freaking her out.

She is _not_ steady at all on either side, with him or with others. She's got books and lists and a pregnancy journal and no freaking idea what she's doing in spite of all of that. Lane has been more than willing to share her own experiences, even more than she was when she was experiencing it, but that was all a long time ago. Plus, Lane's situation was so different. She was married, she was having twins, she had a different dynamic with her mom. It's only moderately helpful and, more than once, Rory has found herself wishing her situation with Logan was more sorted out so she could talk to Honor. She knows Honor has kids, plural although Rory doesn't know the exact number, and would be a great help. Her own mother Is qualified, but she doesn't like Lorelai's laughter or promise that she'll figure it out as she goes. She's already completely failing at that with her career and life. She doesn't want to add another area of uncertainty to it all. She doesn't want to do it with someone who seems like he knows all the right moves, will lock it all in at exactly the moment he wants to, and just the right tie for any occasion. She wants him to freak out, too.

She thinks with a high degree of certainty there's a lot happening under the surface that he isn't sharing with her. In addition to everything else, she doesn't really know how she feels about that. So, she claims a spot as his DD and goes to drinks with him, hoping maybe it will give her some insight.

The first thing she notices is he's nursing his Scotch. He's nursing it so slowly she might be able to finish it for him. When she's no longer pregnant. That in and of itself is unusual. He's gone to the bar to order a round twice and he's taken the glass with him, maintained the appearance that he's refilling it, but he's not. The two things taken together are doubly strange. It may not be insight, but it's more clear something is going on once she notices that.

The second thing she's noticed is his radio silence. It isn't that he's brooding or not participating in the conversation. He's smiling, laughing, all charm and energy the way he always is. He's also said nothing about himself, nothing of substance, and nothing at all about the baby. The boys have steered clear of asking, at least in front of her, about the wedding being off. It wasn't really a frequently discussed topic when they all went out anyway. She isn't sure if they know even that. She hopes so and she can't explain why.

"Alright love," Finn finally says, settling beside her at their table with his arms on the tabletop and leaning. He's about two and a half sheets to the wind. It's something she recognizes about the world, something that hasn't changed, and she laughs as she focuses on him. "Enough about me." He hasn't said much about himself, but apparently it's enough. She raises her eyebrows expectantly as she waits. "Let's discuss you. Why are you caught up with our lot again? Last time was allegedly the last time. I assume it has something to do with Logan over there. It usually does. And now he's _free_. Much like my -"

"I get the idea," she cuts in. Finn, when they go to certain bars, doesn't wear underwear. She doesn't want details and she definitely doesn't want proof. She's actually gotten it before and that was more than sufficient. At least she knows they know Logan's engagement off. "And yes, I'm here with him." With a glance toward Logan, who is just watching the exchange as he runs his finger up and down the outside of his rocks glass, she knows somehow that he'll say something when he's ready. He's definitely freaking out and not telling her, she's certain. With the possibility they're a team, she doesn't want to leave him hanging in any way. So, she buys him some time.

"The truth is, though, I came to see you. I've missed you, Finn. Tell me more about Ibiza. How was your sixth visit different from the rest?" He's easy, because he does what she asks. She gets a good fifteen minutes of chatter about Ibiza before Finn wanders off.

She waits until Colin is engaged in some sort of negotiation and Finn is engaged in some sort of mating ritual before she sets her hand on Logan's thigh. She's immediately given his attention and, in spite of the gentle accusation, she laughs a little. "You haven't told them. And you're not actually taking advantage of me."

He smirks and she realizes she could've phrased that a little better.

Beneath the smirk, though, there's an _I don't want to go to London_ look on his face. Her mind starts working overtime to figure out exactly what he's dreading or hating. There are a few options and nothing is defined well enough between them that she's comfortable.

"You're my favorite drinking partner, and you're not drinking right now for obvious reasons," he points out, sitting up and leaning closer to her so he can speak over the noise around them. "I guess it's all just sinking in, after the appointment earlier. I'm having trouble finding the words to tell them. This is a game changer. How did you tell your mom? Was there a Band-Aid anecdote there, too?"

She gives him a thin laugh, a little less tense now that he's started to open up. She both does and doesn't want to know what he means by _sinking in._ That had happened for her before she ever called him, and it was a hard realization to have about all the ways her life was about to change. It makes her wonder again if the pressure will be too much and he'll bail. "No. We were sitting in the gazebo in town after her wedding and I just kind of blurted it out. She looked horrified. Shocked. Maybe you should ease them in. I'm sure you could reminisce about something. Condoms breaking… gold-digging ex-hookups?"

"Your phone," he says, though the corners of his mouth are tipping up a little as he does. It's a quick switch, a new show of emotion, and she's a little slow to catch up. Her confusion is probably apparent on her face. It's pretty apparent in her head. "Or maybe mine. Your screen is a little bigger, but I think my resolution is better. Either way, we're going to have to tell them what they're looking at." He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and she realizes where he's going about three seconds before he gets there.

She also watches him pull up the photo they were emailed following the ultrasound earlier, but she knows what it looks like, so she watches his face instead. She has no idea what his expression is telling her. It's not plainly bad, but it also isn't plainly good. It's plainly no one thing, but instead is a lot of things all mixed together.

Her mouth is open to say something, to ask what she sees now that he's maybe possibly started to open up, but they get interrupted by Colin.

"Do you need me to throw that thing across the room for you?" He asks, picking it up before either of them can say a word. He almost freezes when he realizes what he's looking at, in the split second just before the screen goes black. "What is this? And what's your lock code?"

Logan flicks a glance over at Rory before he meets Colin's eye. He reaches out for the phone. "There is no way in hell I'm giving you my lock code, even if wasn't TouchID. That is why I'm not engaged anymore." He hands it back over once the picture is back on the screen. "Rory and I are having a baby."

"Together?" He asks. Logan has already started to nod and elaborate as Finn sidles up to him.

"That is the weirdest home screen in the world, Logan. Please tell me you haven't gone gyno on us." Finn takes the phone from Colin and there are a couple of moments of him trying, and failing, to turn it so he can view the picture from another angle. He's too drunk to realize he'd have to change the settings on the phone to avoid the screen orienting itself. Colin takes it back and it's like a bad scene from a sitcom or maybe a one-act play. She's honestly seen better ones and is, just a little, losing her patience.

"Is that even a thing? No," Logan says. Rory knows if he was drunk, or had even been drinking, there probably would've been a crass joke about being a recreational gynecologist. She's actually heard that one before. She keeps her mouth shut, her eyes on him, and follows his lead. "We were having that taken at the doctor's office earlier today. That's why we didn't meet for drinks until five."

"I just figured that's because you're a working stiff," Finn comments. "With my sister's last one, the ultrasound tech said you look for the hamburger to see if it's a girl. I only remember because the ultrasound tech was _hot_. Anyway, I digress. Hamburger or hot dog, Logan?"

That starts a whole new generation of awkward attempts to look at the ultrasound photos, of which there are three, on Logan's phone. He doesn't even get out of his seat, just watches them. Rory watches him. It's a little more relaxed, though, and kind of funny to watch the news settle through the guys who have been friends forever, even though Logan is the only one who seems to grasp the enormity of the moment.

It's always a little dangerous to take her eyes off drunk Colin and even drunker Finn, and she's reminded of that as Logan's phone starts blaring a song – and then they start singing along. It's the karaoke version, so it feeds them the words. That doesn't mean they sing the right ones.

" _Havin' my baby! What a lovely way of sayin' how much you …."_

It doesn't take them long to gain the attention of the entire bar. It doesn't take Rory and Logan much longer than that to get Logan's phone back and to leave.

(Logan gets followup texts from Finn asking 'hamburger or hot dog?' for the next two weeks. He forwards every single one to Rory, just so she can see what he has to deal with. Her replies are usually neither food item, but instead sarcasm, and they brighten his day every time. He almost always passes them on to Finn.)

* * *

Colin calls him about a day and a half later. He misses the call because he's on a flight back to London, but he returns it from Heathrow, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach as he does. When he turned his phone on again after the flight, he had sixteen texts, a voicemail, and he's honestly not sure how many missed calls because he's afraid to check. The voicemail is from his dad. Obviously he calls Colin back first.

"So now that Thursday's binge has worn off, I feel the need to call you and seriously ask if you're losing it."

(When that's how Colin answers the phone, Logan thinks maybe that shouldn't have been the first call.)

"I have bought zero vehicles older than me in the last month," Logan replies, trying to keep it light, but the joke falls flat.

"Rory's pregnant. It explains a lot. So would a psychotic break," Colin clarifies, his tone something just the other side of 'pompous asshole.'

Logan actually stops walking through the airport. He's already wearing a tie, headed straight into the office, but that doesn't afford him any more dignity as he slouches into a chair in one of the concourses. "There's no psychotic break. Rory called me about a month ago and told me. I'm not glad it's all happening now, but I'm glad it's happening."

It's the first time he's actually admitted that out loud and he feels a little weight come off his shoulders.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Colin asks. If Logan were still a betting man, he'd bet the undertone in Colin's voice, vaguely unfamiliar because they almost never take anything seriously, is one of hurt.

"I didn't want you to point out the obvious. She was gonna let me marry someone we all know I don't love. She walked away. As much fun as we had on that rescue mission, she's a mess. It messes me up when she gets messy and leaves me. You know? I know that. She told me she didn't want to get married a lifetime ago because she wanted to chase professional goals and she hasn't caught them yet. I figured you'd tell me to burn through a starter wife and give Rory some money so she could keep on running."

"Maybe if we were still in college, but we aren't. We're marrying age now. Hell, last I heard Rosemary was on husband number three and kid number five. Besides, Odette isn't a starter wife. She'd do the limbo just to get around the requirements of your prenup for a nine figure payout." There's a long pause that sounds to Logan like Colin is drinking water. They're all too old to drink constantly the way they did the other night. Well, the way Colin and Finn did. Rallying doesn't happen quite as fast as it used to. "How'd Mitchum take it?"

Logan issues a short bark, something kind of like a laugh but way less humorous. "He just said better now than five years from now." He sighs and runs a hand over his face. "He's never really cared that much about the personal stuff. He likes how hard I worked when I was with Rory, but says I had focus issues with her there and me here. He doesn't think she's the _settling_ kind, and I didn't know what to say because I know she's not. So it creates problems with trust funds and ending engagements and that kind of thing. He hired a family attorney here and one in Connecticut and asked them to work together on my behalf." He swallows hard and lets out yet another admission he hasn't made to anyone else. "He hasn't once asked me what I want, where I want to be, or how I feel about any of it. Just like anything else. It's all business angles and profit or loss. At least I was spared being told I'm a disappointment this time. I'm sure my mom will throw that in there enough for both of them."

"Probably," Colin says swiftly. Logan wants to protest, but before he can mount it, Colin continues. "What do you expect me to say about that? You're not wrong." Another pause. Logan almost wants to ask what the hell his friend is doing, but he's more sure he doesn't want to know. "So what do you want?"

He sits back in the uncomfortable airport chair, in God only knows what part of the airport. This is not his throne and is also not some place he would've picked for a grand revelation. He's not even sure, when he gets up and walks away, that it's a place he'll know how to to duplicate.

"I want to not turn into my father." As soon as he says it, he knows it's the absolute, God's-honest truth.

"So don't. Your dad's an asshole."

Its stunning in its simplicity, its accuracy, and its ability to make him laugh.

"Rory is one of us. That's the argument you made the night we went to rescue her from her small town drudgery. We take care of our people. I submit this to you: you're in trouble, my friend. We will come get you if we have to. Operation Do Not Become Mitchum is commencing right now."

"I also don't want to turn into another guy like _her_ dad," Logan cuts in, almost timidly.

"I don't know anything about Rory's father. I know she looks and acts more like her mother and that is, quite frankly, both hot and terrifying. Give me his name and date of birth, I'll do some research and try to formulate The Plan: Part Two. Also do not become…"

"Christopher," Logan supplies. He has to think back through the more charming parts of his brain. He's bypassing the _hot and terrifying_ comment so his head doesn't explode. Focusing on Chris' details is topical and just plain easier. "Hayden. No way in hell can I give you his date of birth. Take Rory's and add sixteen." He shakes his head. "That isn't the point. Research isn't going to tell you how to stop me from failing."

"Yeah, well, you already have a template. It's a game we've played for years. What Would Mitchum Do? And then you do the exact opposite. You score bonus points for more flamboyant methods employed to piss him off."

They only talk for a few more minutes, but it's closer to an hour he sits there thinking way too hard, sorting obligations and responsibilities.

* * *

 _ ***The song 'Havin' My Baby' is by Paul Anka. Although that fit on so many levels, I still hate it and used it sparingly.**_


	7. thought i felt you moving beside me

**a/n: sorry to get you used to daily updates and then have a 'paper is due' explosion of life and school. Good news – I'm following it up with probably the shortest chapter of the entire story. It's also probably the most important in a lot of ways, so I hope you like it and it was worth the wait. Thank you again for all the feedback. I appreciate each and every one of you who are still with me.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own it. Any of it.**

* * *

 **chapter 7: thought I felt you moving beside me**

She's at the Stars Hollow Gazette when her phone rings with one of the last numbers she expects to see. He was quiet and distant for most of his visit. She never managed to get details out of him before he had to go, but she knows at some point, he'll let her in. _Or else_.

She doesn't want to finish the threat, even in her head. It isn't a pleasant thought to bear out to its conclusion. It's nearly as unpleasant as the thought of actually running the lackluster article she has about the progress with the sewer system – the one she currently has titled ' _That's a Crap!'_

(She's not sure the exclamation point makes it any better. In fact, she's pretty sure it doesn't.)

"Ski chalet in Switzerland," she says. They've started answering their phones this way when he's in London because they're ridiculous. It's a nice tradition, though, and she's clinging to it a little bit because she's afraid she's already losing him.

"I wish," he admits.

That is _not_ their pattern. Her mess of emotions skyrocket into anxiety with just two words.

"So what's stopping you?" She asks, the words coming out a little strangled.

"We're having a baby. A living, breathing, sentient human being that's part you and part me. We're going to mess him up. _Him_." He sighs. "I can't stop thinking about my father. You don't know this, because your mom is great, but having a less than stellar example for inspiration makes this all overwhelming. And it isn't just my father, Rory. My mom is a snob and my grandfather…"

While she was squeaking by on Pop Tarts and bargain-bin movies, raised for the first few years of her life in a literal shed, she was being told she was great. She was being told she could do anything she wanted, that she was brilliant and beautiful and had all the tools for success. While he was raised wanting for nothing physical, he was being told he could only do what was expected of him and, if he didn't, he was a bitter disappointment.

His confidence is mostly a front. Hers is mostly a prop.

When it comes down to it, they're the same, albeit with very different doubts and fears. She knows she'll mess up and she doesn't want to. He doesn't think he can get anything right. The difference is subtle but profound.

She probably should've seen this coming.

"I don't want to live in London," she says carefully. "And I don't think you do, either. You want to be here – with me. Don't you?"

"Yes," he says firmly. "I want to be there. I want you to know that I'm not there just because of our boy. I want to keep doing the job I'm doing now because I'm _good_ at it, but I don't want to do it here. London was supposed to be for a year. When I tried to go my own way, he bought the company. I've gone back and forth thinking it was his messed up way of maintaining a semblance of a relationship – but it's control. I don't want to be like him and I don't want to be controlled or manipulated into becoming him. I'm heading down that path and it freaks me out. I need to make it stop somehow."

"So how do we do that?" She asks. "How do we make that happen?" See, the thing is, she doesn't have any more answers than he does – at least not about the big stuff.

"I'm asking him to transfer me to New York. It isn't that close, but it's at least in the same timezone. That's a start," he explains. "I've been sitting here thinking for a while. I want to buy something in the city and something in Stars Hollow – a townhouse, a condo, an apartment, a grotto. Something. It won't kill him to let me use the helicopter. Or, hell, I'll buy my own if he says no. I hate that I have to ask him for things in the first place." There's a long pause, a bit of a break. "I mean… that's what I'm thinking. What do you think?"

"You threw a lot of money around in all that," she says breathlessly, still trying to catch up. He's him so he went from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye. "I don't have a job. I'm working on my book, but I don't have prospects outside of that. I don't know if I'll be able to get it published or if it'll go anywhere. This place is never going to make any money. I'm not going to just let you buy me a house. Or _two_. That isn't how it works. That's not a partnership."

He's quiet for a really long time. The only reason it's uncomfortable is because the mutual silence is over a phone line, over an ocean. She can't watch him. She isn't going to say it, because she knows it would feed into his own doubts, but throwing a bunch of money at the situation to mold it into what you want is what his father would do. Even without being able to see him, crestfallen and slightly rejected, she knows she needs to find a way to fix the damage her words probably just caused, whatever it was that stunned him into silence.

Maybe he is more like his father than he cares to admit. In being stubborn and independent and shooting him down, maybe she's being more like her mother than she cares to admit. The thought makes her groan and has her hammering out a compromise as she speaks.

"Why don't we go into the city the next time you can come out here? We'll pick something together. I'll look around at what I can maybe freelance again and if I can save some money, then we can look for an apartment or something here."

"Okay," he agrees. He doesn't even sound completely offput or heartbroken, so she supposed that's a start. "Want to get online and start scouting some things out for us? I've been blowing off a meeting to sit here and think. I should probably go do some convincing that I want to keep this job."

She smiles. "I can do that. I'll email you a list. It'll be way more productive than this expose on the seedy underbelly of Stars Hollow."

There's some cutesy back and forth about the town not having a seedy underbelly, but no one wants to see what's under the sewer system anyway. They agree if the Hollow has a questionable corner, it's Al's Pancake World because that place is still _open_ so it's got to be some kind of drug front.

Just like that, though, she feels like they're adults. It's disorienting, but the kind of disorienting when you're a child and you put your arms out and spin until you're not sure when you've actually stopped. In other words, it's not the bad kind.

* * *

He should probably be able to feel the emptiness of his apartment, but he can't. He felt more empty all those months ago returning after his night in Connecticut with Colin, Finn, Robert, and Rory. It seemed a little more final, somehow, that Rory would never be in his home again. Odette didn't really make a dent. He doesn't feel different and, looking around for the first time since she officially finished moving out, he can't see where her things had been. Granted, he has an excellent housekeeper, but there aren't empty rings on the mantle where dust didn't settle while her things were there. The spot by the door where Rory's shoes always sat was never otherwise claimed, and it's been empty for a long while now. That has more of an effect on him, he thinks.

His head does the time conversion automatically when he thinks he wants to call her. They've already talked today, twice, and have been emailing back and forth about apartments in New York for almost a week. They've been in contact in a variety of ways about the complicated details they're trying to sort out and he has absolutely no complaints. If he called her now, it would be to hear her voice. It would be strictly because he wants to, and not because he has to for some reason. He's never had that pull toward someone the way he has it toward her now.

They've talked about a lot, and yet it occurs to him as he realizes her shoes haven't been in what he'd come to think of as _their_ spot, that they haven't discussed just as much. Her shoes won't ever sit in that spot again because he officially terminated his lease this morning and he doubts very much she'll be back before he moves out.

His father arrived in town this morning and they're working on dividing job duties so he can go the HPG office in New York and still function – in exactly the capacity he wants to function, no more and no less. The conversation has been hit or miss, but they've avoided making below-the-belt accusations and it doesn't feel as tense or reluctant as he expected. Mitchum said exactly once that it'll be good to have Logan closer to home, especially 'during all of this.' Exactly once, Logan had to actively try not to choke on his shock.

But now that he's home, with a glass of Scotch he doesn't actually want, and staring at the spot where her shoes were or the place where her bag landed on the chair towards the kitchen side of the counter island, he just wants to talk to her. It's all very sentimental and sloppy and sappy. He doesn't care.

"Third star to the right?" She answers.

"I miss you," he replies. It's blunt instead of the whimsy he's pretty sure he can hear in her voice. It breaks their newish tradition, but he doesn't care.

"What happened?" She asks, sounding a little suspicious.

He shakes his head, which is stupid because there's been Scotch and also she can't see him doing it. "Nothing. I just… do. I'm sitting here thinking about it – about you. I miss you, Ace. Tell me about what you're doing right now. I want to hear every detail."

Yeah, he knows what he's asking. Her vocabulary is expansive and her descriptive skill may be unparalleled, at least for the people in his life that he's really paid attention to. He wants to hear it all. She doesn't say she has better things to do. Instead, she gives him what he asks for and he can almost hear her pleased sigh when he thanks her before he lets her hang up because she has things to do that don't include measuring the height of files and useless information cluttering the (her) office just so she can describe it to him.

The silence feels a little less haunting once he hangs up, and he's a little less empty. He might be by himself but, for the first time in a really long time, he doesn't feel alone.


	8. you can only hold your breath so long

**a/n: sorry to be so quick with updates and then ghost out for a few days. I had some trouble with the scene at the end, for one, and it's finals for me. A huge group project for an online class is a terrible idea. Anyway, thank you for your patience, your replies, your faves/kudos, and all the conversation about this. It's been a lot of fun to see all the different points of view surrounding this.**

 **disclaimer: I don't own any of this. I'm handling it with care, I promise. All titles are taken from 'Empire Builder' by Laura Gibson. I feel like this particular chapter title should end with (…and then your words explode and you start making changes/decisions.) – but it doesn't so I stayed true to its original form.**

* * *

 **chapter 8: you can only hold your breath so long**

It may have been a crappy move on her part, but she didn't exactly disclose to Paris that their lunch date wasn't, as Paris said, 'two old chums shooting the shit.'

It sounds just as weird in her head as it did on the phone, but that's Paris.

She and Logan have been looking at apartments for three hours, since his flight landed, and they're breaking for lunch following one that earned an amused side-eye from him because yes, it's true, it was a little closer to her price range than his. She's always prided herself a little on being a bargain shopper and he isn't going to be able to change that about her now. Besides, they're going to look at two of his picks after lunch. She's reasonably sure their time in the lower-rent zip code has come to a close.

It's ridiculous she waited this long to tell Paris. They talk on the phone at least three times a week and text or email constantly. It's all observations about the world around them, Paris' ongoing divorce, her kids. It isn't that Rory won't contribute when she can, it's just that other than the _one big thing_ , she's been pretty status quo. She's been busy with the Gazette, the book, her mom's wedding. Paris has never been one for static details and so the conversations have been largely one-sided.

But Paris' eyes dart down to her stomach immediately. The curve there is still subtle, and artfully covered with clothes, but it isn't unnoticeable. As soon as the door opens, Rory feels like she's under a microscope.

With a sigh, Paris sets her mouth in a grim line. "When are you due?"

With that look on her counterpart's face, Rory knows well enough to just answer the questions and get through it. "The end of June."

"And who's the father?" She asks. Her eyes move and she realizes Logan is standing a couple of stairs back. The admittedly very nice home of Paris Gellar and Doyle McMaster has the world's tiniest concrete porch and it seemed more important for Rory to stand on it than him. Paris' face crumples but her vocal protest cuts like a knife through the already-brittle winter air. "Oh, no. Seriously? Don't you go away?"

Logan offers her a smile that, directed at anyone else, might be considered charming. She just uses it as ammunition. She always has. "I moved to London for ten years, with a prior, brief stint in San Francisco. I've _been_ away."

"Clearly not far enough away," Paris bites back. "I thought you were getting married?"

"Nope," he says easily. One word to wrap up all the complication. That's all he's giving her and Rory knows he thinks that's more than she deserves. He doesn't _hate_ Paris, but he only tolerates her, usually by finding subtle ways to mock or aggravate. He used to find amusement in her when she was amusing, but motherhood and divorce and the nature of her job have sharpened her few soft edges. She isn't that amusing anymore, ergo she doesn't get much baiting or information at all.

"Hey, Paris? It was my choice," Rory cuts in. She knows if Paris gets started, there will be no reining it back in.

"Your mom is super mom. Is she on-board with you being all happy family instead of all pro-single woman?"

Rory sighs. She doesn't want to get into it in front of Logan like he isn't there. They haven't gone too far into details really. All he knows is the net result – she called him. He's here and he's involved. He doesn't know, at least not in detail provided by her, the things that went into the decision on the other end of the phone call.

"Lorelai and I are working on an understanding and, when we have it hammered out, the details will be private. 'Under pain of death' kind of stuff. We could tell you, but then we'd have to kill you," Logan interrupts. He sounds amused. Rory is not unaware of what his quick comeback does to her libido, either, she just doesn't know what she can do about it considering they haven't gone _there_ just yet. "I'm sure you understand."

Paris just narrows her eyes. Rory turns on him. There are questions in her eyes and she isn't sure how they aren't slipping out of her mouth beyond her control. He gives a subtle shake of the head and points back to Paris, pursing his lips while he does so. "Later, Ace."

Uncertainly, she turns back toward Paris and asks if they're doing lunch or what because she's starving. While that gets them in motion, it doesn't derail anything.

Lunch is painful and _long_.

* * *

He loves spending holidays with this girl and, though it's been a long time, that hasn't changed. She has this energy, sometimes dignified and sometimes less so, that makes anything more fun. He remembers thinking as a kid that most holidays were gilded to the point they weren't recognizable or enjoyable. He barely tolerated them until he got old enough to make his own sub-parties. He didn't want to get presents because the calendar said so, he didn't want to give them because the calendar said so, and he didn't feel like expressing love or appreciation for any particular person because it was Mother's Day, Father's Day, etcetera etcetera.

She turned the way he saw holidays on its head. All of a sudden, he _wanted_ to go all-out to show someone how much he felt. Part of his desire to put in the effort was knowing she would recognize it, would appreciate it, would reciprocate it. It was a microcosm of their relationship in general: he put in a lot, because he wanted to, and he got a lot in return. The opportunity to do it in different ways – birthday, Christmas, Easter, Guy Fawkes day –was welcomed and he liked getting creative. Apparently it's a phenomenon specific to Rory Gilmore, because that creativity has been missing for a long time.

Valentines Day falling on a Tuesday while he's still sorting everything out kind of sucks because it means he doesn't get to see her in person. The upside is he gets _really_ creative. He sends her flowers, but that's just the start. He uses his (considerable) wealth, his (not considerable) influence, and a lot of charm to line up deliveries so she'll receive something roughly every hour. Flowers. A coffee cart. Donuts. He can't duplicate the letter from Lorelai that he used like a heart in his hands because she's never told him exactly what it said, but he manages to get someone to email him the old letterhead logos from The Dragonfly and he writes his own. The last delivery he has planned is a model rocket, even though she's already got one somewhere maybe (he hopes.) This time he sends a DVD copy of the Twilight Zone episode that started it all, too, just so the reference is a little less obscure this time. Her memory is a steel trap but it's been a long time. She said she got it back then but he wasn't really sure and this time he wants it to be clear.

He fucking _loves_ her. It doesn't have anything to do with their present circumstances, which may be happening because he loves her and he's always been a little bit weak for her. All those have really done is allowed another chance for him to tell her. He remembers their relationship, he remembers his uncertainty when it all started and realizing he'd known she was worth it. He remembers how it felt to lose her, temporarily and then more permanently, because he was fumbling through something so big he couldn't coast through it. He made mistakes. He wanted to be better because of her and better for her. He was better _with_ her and she was better, too, he thinks.

He wants it back. Even after the rejection so long ago, he's suspected, he's thought, he's known, and now he's free to say so. It doesn't feel as precarious now for some reason (not just because of their son.)

She calls before they planned for her to call, an uncharacteristically weepy mess after the letter, and he decides he'll wait to actually say the words until they're in person. His actions have communicated enough for one day.

* * *

Rory stumbles out of her bedroom with closed eyes and a yawn early one morning and realizes she can smell eggs but she doesn't feel queasy. She doesn't want to contemplate eating them, but she is hungry. It's progress, keeping her appetite. When she opens her eyes finally, as she's fumbling to pull a chair out from the table, she's unsurprised to see Luke making breakfast.

For Paul Anka.

It makes her smile.

"I can give him the bump if you want these," Luke offers. It's way better than saying 'good morning.'

She smiles and sets her chin on the heel of her hand. "I wouldn't want to stand in the way of Paul Anka's ritual." It's on the tip of her tongue to thank him and say she'll grab coffee in a second, because really she's not even awake enough to do that, but he slides a mug in front of her before she can say anything. "Thanks, Luke."

"You're up early," he comments. "I usually have the house to myself."

"I'm meeting Logan in the city to go apartment hunting again. I have a few things to finish at the Gazette first." It's disjointed, but it's what she has by way of explanation. She'll be better once she's got some coffee in her system. She's not so asleep she misses the look on Luke's face. She doesn't know what it means, though, and she isn't in the position to decipher.

"How's all that going?" He asks, turning back to the stove. "Lorelai hasn't shared many details."

She has tread lightly with her mother, so that doesn't surprise her. It isn't that they're at odds, it's that Rory feels like she needs to be her own person and make her own choices here. For all the similarities she and Lorelai share, they aren't quite the same and her current situation is an expansion of those differences. Not to mention, Lorelai has always been fiercely private with certain things and they've been letting this news out slowly. That doesn't mean Rory ever intended to keep Luke out of the loop.

"As well as can be expected," she offers. She'll just have to fill him in. It may be awkward, because Luke has always seen the very best in her. He's been protective and loving, albeit in his own gruff way, and more like a father than her actual father. He's been there all along. She doesn't know where to start because, even with that, they've never talked quite like this before. "It's a mess. He left his fiancée and he's trying to get work sorted out so he can be here, or at least be _closer_."

"Well that's good. It's good you're giving him the chance to do that," he comments. She hears way more than he actually said. It's also the opposite of what her mom said initially (a lot of 'we can handle this' was thrown around), and also discordant with Christopher's comments before she told anyone she was pregnant. This is the perspective of a father-figure, a dad who wasn't let in on things until way later, someone who loves and protects and wants fiercely. "If he starts acting like your dad, I'm gonna kill him."

She chokes on her first real drink coffee at his matter-of-fact delivery.

Mostly because, as easily as he said the words, she knows he means them.

"I don't have an Electra complex," she says on a small laugh. "Logan isn't that much like Christopher in the ways that matter."

"Are you sure? Because the hair gel and leather say otherwise. And the neckties. Those, too." The cadence of the words is thrown off by his motion as he actually feeds the dog. He sits down across from her once he's done. "I just don't want you to get hurt. The guy was just engaged to someone else for crying out loud. How stable could he be?"

Rory purses her lips and tilts her head, thinking about all the explanations she could provide for her own responsibility in the situation. "My mom always knew she could count on you. Even when she was engaged – or married. Even when you were engaged or married. You were somehow always there for her and there for me when we needed you the most. I can count on Logan that same way. The affair, the lack of a real and solid relationship in my own life – those things have been my choice. I knew what I was getting into and I set the conditions and he let me. He answered whenever I called, he rearranged his plans when I was in town. I can count on him. More often than not, I have to rein in what he's willing to give."

He looks at her for a long time without saying anything and she finds it more unnerving than having this conversation would be with anyone else. She tries not to slump and to maintain eye contact at least. "What is he trying to give? Is he trying to force you into something?"

She doesn't realize how ridiculous that thought is until she laughing and shaking her head. She sighs on the end of the laugh, though. "He wants to buy a house here and something in New York, because that's the closest his work can really get him to here. I told him not to buy anything around here but I think maybe… maybe that was less pride and more that I don't want to raise our son here, either. It was a good place to grow up, but I never fit just right. I still don't know where I fit. The thought of buying a house terrifies me because it's permanent."

He arches an eyebrow at her. "And raising a child together isn't permanent? All the ' _I can count on him_ ' and ' _rearranging his life to move here_ ' isn't permanent enough? Newsflash, Rory, you're both already in this. Buying a house just means you have a place to put it. Him. Both of you."

"But I haven't _done_ anything yet. I wrote one article that got some buzz and that's _it_. I had plans, and I was going to do so much _more._ " She sputtering and getting worked up and he's just calmly taking it all. She thinks he's had some practice handling a genuine Gilmore girl meltdown. "And now I just have this book that I love writing and I'm engaged in, but I also have this baby and I'm not _ready_ yet! The book might not even get published. I don't even know where to start with that! How do I support us? My mom was a maid. Do I go work as a maid somewhere with my Ivy League degree and my almost-full passport? That doesn't line up. Do I do what she did when she was sixteen? Is that the only way to make this work?"

"Oh, boy," Lorelai says as she comes into the kitchen. She doesn't flip the light on, thankfully. "No, hon, that's how _I_ made this work. As much as we want to dress it up and change the details to protect the guilty, did change them to protect the innocent, it's not a template. You have to figure it out on your own."

Luke looks a little relieved. To his credit, he stays sitting. That may be because Lorelai rests her hands on his shoulders and leans against him a bit. If he got up, she would fall over or, at least, protest.

"Nothing is decided," Rory says finally. "Nothing is settled. I'm supposed to meet Logan at the airport at noon and we have _no idea_ what we're doing. I have no idea what I'm doing and he's…"

Lorelai looks at her expectantly. Luke is just kind of looking. He wasn't ever involved in this part of the process with April. He may very well not want to be involved in it now.

"He's there for you, just waiting for you to call," Luke says. "So call him. You just told me you can rely on him, and you're gonna have to. But if you don't buy the house, you have a place to stay. Charge for the Gazette and make a little money for your effort. You can play the people here a little and they'll pay because it's _you_ and you need it. Babette will probably buy your entire first edition and use it for paper-maiche or somethin' nuts that I'll have to look at during all the fairweather months because she'll put it out in the side yard." He interrupts his own, breathless rant for a breath, sighs, and then changes directions a little. "But at least it's income. And you know publishers. I don't know what Logan does in publishing exactly, but something, right? It's there in the name of his dad's gigantic, pain-in-the-ass company. If that doesn't work, Jess has a publishing thing with his store and a soft spot for you… you have _options_. You have people who love you and will help. But you have to let them, which is hilarious comin' from me, but it's still true."

Rory sees her mom squeeze at his shoulders, probably both a thank you and a bit of a _calm down_ , and she wants that. She wants that influence, that space to speak her mind, and that comfort. She wants the kind of relationship, the kind of closeness, where someone is behind her when she gets upset or when she's happy. As much as she's independent, or wants to be, she doesn't want to be on her own. She never has been. She's always had support, no matter what dream she was chasing.

That's still true. Nothing about her situation is as risky as she wants to pretend it is when she's caught in the throes of panic, fearing the lack of rules and the lack of plan or a path. The end of the story isn't written. It's still getting started, still in the middle, and still in motion. All she has to do is keep going.

She looks for bigger apartments on the train to New York – maybe something a little more permanent than 'bachelor pad.'


	9. i sense the gravity shifting

**A/N: The very first thing I have to do is apologize for the sudden halt to updates that had been coming fairly regularly. I went into hibernation when my finals were over and resurfaced right into an evil class that compresses a regular semester of physiology into six fun-filled weeks. I still have muse, I still want to write, and my head is full of things for this story, I just haven't had much time to get them on paper (or, you know, screen.) Please bear with me. I will finish this I swear. The second thing I need to do is thank everyone for the replies, conversation, feedback, kudos, bookmarks, etc. etc. It is much appreciated.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls or much else. I named the real estate agent, does that count? The chapter title for this one (and probably for the rest of the story now because I ran out of lines from Empire Builder) is from Another World by Ofelia K.**

* * *

 **chapter 9: i sense the gravity shifting inside our heads**

Movie Night in the Gilmore/Danes household is stunningly similar to what it always was.

Logan is firmly in flux, the equivalent of Rory's box collection strung up and down parts of the East Coast all tied up in one person. He's been on this side of the pond for a little over two weeks now, trying to get everything he can done in New York to establish himself at work. HPG already has an office, obviously, but he had to clear out his space in the office. If he thinks about it really hard, he's pretty sure it's the desk he used last time and it's become a storage space (read: dumping ground) for things in his long absence. There's been literal rolling up of sleeves, moving paper and boxes in quantities he's sure no one uses, and meetings with various interoffice people as well as clients. He still came down for Rory's Thursday afternoon doctor's appointment. He's dragging his feet on going back to the city, to the point it's nearly midnight on Thursday and he's got his head in Rory's lap on the couch, his tie so loose it can barely be considered _on_ and the top two buttons of his shirt undone.

Part of that is because she called him freaking out that she was kind of pretty sure she maybe possibly felt the baby move for the first time and people called it a miracle but it felt like bubbles _and not the good kind because there's only ever one kind of bubble in your stomach_. He's kind of using his earlobe as a baby detector, which is a lame excuse to have his head in her lap. He uses it anyway and he's been working on falling asleep with visual of her chin as she watches her way through the Alien movies ( _an homage to feeling the baby move_ , Lorelai said) and a huge stash of Red Vines.

Somewhere during Aliens 3, she reaches for another package – her _fourth_ for those keeping track at home - and he not only wakes up with her motion, but he starts laughing. He is joined by Lorelai in his laughter.

See, he went to the market in town after the first Aliens movie when they ran out of the first wave of Red Vines. Apparently the market operates on some small town schedule and closes at 9 o'clock, even on weeknights, so anticipation was key. Anyway, Rory has denied having food cravings but now there's evidence against her words. Four packages of it.

"Shut up, both you," she says without taking her eyes off the screen.

It only makes them both laugh harder and she tells them, seriously, if they're going to interrupt the movie, they can take it outside. They both manage to stop, barely, but it's only a few minutes later that she's pausing the delightfully horrible movie for a bathroom break anyway. Logan sits up so she can move and is rubbing his eyes before he can process that he and Lorelai were on the same side of a joke for once. It's kind of nice, the slow start of a thaw between them maybe. Hopefully.

"She's freaking out that nothing is settled," Lorelai says quietly. "Any furtive movements that direction?"

He shifts his gaze down the hall, making sure Rory won't hear the answer he probably shouldn't give, but nods while he looks. His voice is low and steady as he explains. "I'm closing on a house in Roxbury next week. I haven't told her yet because she didn't want me to buy her a house."

He can feel Lorelai's gaze shift toward him, and even before he meets it, it feels incredulous. Roxbury is just the other side of Woodbury. It's only about 15 minutes away from Stars Hollow. And those homes are all pretty expensive. The one he bought is a little over two million dollars, situated on five acres of property, quiet and out of the way. It's also a decent compromise at just a 90-minute commute from Manhattan. Based on his conversations with Rory, who wants to be in the city and keep trying to find work, he's thinking it'll be more like a weekend home for them, but it's still close to Lorelai.

"That's… settled," she agrees. "And you're okay with that?"

"I'm putting my money where my mouth is," he confirms with a smile. "I meant it when I said I was all in for this. I have the means for it and I want to figure out the skills. You have the skills. Maybe we could all work together."

"Part of me thought you were going to try to force her to London. Or into getting married," Lorelai admits.

He outright laughs, but he keeps it soft. "I know better than to try to force her to do anything – especially getting married. I can provide a house, though. Two of them. One is in a city with a lot of job opportunities for her. It's right around the corner from my office so we can switch off parenting duties. I'm willing to use the flexibility of being the boss' son. It might as well be good for something. The other house is close to you and has Richard's desk, chair, and bookshelves waiting in storage to be a writing refuge for her. And plenty of room for her boxes, should she ever find them all and want them in one place."

"You bought my dad's furniture?" She asks, still seeming a step behind and somewhat stunned. It's a way better reaction than her lighting him on fire with her words and her eyes – that's always a little more what he expects.

"Yeah. I tracked it down after Emily's auction. Rory told me that's where she wanted to write the story and, while I couldn't recreate the space entirely by the time she told me, I could do this. I wanted to do what I could." He picks a little at the admittedly rumpled crease that was pressed into his fancy pants.

"I didn't even think of buying his desk or his chair," Lorelai admits. Her eyes shift to Rory, coming back into the living room, and her parting comment is brief and quiet. "Good game."

Somehow, though, it feels like more than a verbal ass-slap in a locker room. It feels like he won a jackpot of some kind.

He doesn't leave until early the next morning and he definitely doesn't sleep on the couch.

* * *

Rory's steps are slow, a metered click of her sensible heels against hardwood floor. She knows he's paying attention to it, at least on some level, because he's fallen into step behind her. She also knows by the tense undertone of his voice that the unexpected phone call he's still on doesn't bear good news. It's her third trip through the apartment, though, and she's sure. This is the one she wants him to buy, which means it's probably the one he'll get. She'd like to argue against that, but she's already got ideas. The second bedroom is nearly the same size as the master and her head's got a crib made of polished, dark wood in the corner and the walls painted something taupey, elegant. Something that won't stick out when the other half of the room is a home office for she and Logan to share, their 'nurffice.' (Part nursery, part office.) Yes, they call it that. No, neither of them manages to do so with a straight face.

It's been weeks of negotiation, though. When she admitted she wanted to live with him in New York at least part of the time, it tacked a couple of zeroes into apartment prices. They eventually settled on a different area so they could get two bedrooms without paying a price that made her feel like she was taking his trust fund out for a spin. He handed her his black AmEx and told her he'd sold all his furniture in London because shipping it would have been a disaster.

It made her a little sad. She _really_ liked that couch.

Anyway, it's her third trip through and she knows, she has a gut feeling that is definitely not the fluttery motions of their baby and is also definitely not leftover from lunch. She needs him to get off the phone call for that _and_ because she catches a glimpse of the look on his face. It practically yells his annoyance at the person on the other side. In Technicolor.

"Fine, okay. Speak to you soon. Goodbye," he finishes as he comes in. He's working the knot on his tie, loosening it a bit, as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. His next words are directed at her. "Sorry," he begins. He leans down and kisses her cheek. "I'll have to go over there. Martin is an idiot. What do you think of the place?"

She's probably going to have to get used to this. Gone are the times when he could set aside work for a couple of days because she was coming into town and they'd do a little bit of the Piccadilly Circus and a lot of each other. Now, he's going to have go as often as he comes and sometimes it'll leave her on her own to manage everything. She's as independent as they come, thank you, but she's not so sure she wants to spend a life (or relegate their son to one) dominated by interruptions and waiting for Logan.

"It's perfect," she comments, keeping her eyes on him and trying build up her courage to say what she's thinking. She takes a breath and thinks about opening her mouth, but he's talking because sometimes the pause he gave her is the longest he can manage.

"Good. I think so, too," he says, his hand on her elbow and a genuine smile on his face. "Let's tell Maggie to start on the paperwork. In the meantime, do you want to grab an early dinner? We can stop by the office to sort out this minor disaster on our way. If you're with me, it'll be shorter and I'll be a lot more pleasant."

The smile she offers him is as genuine as her nod. He squeezes at her arm and she thinks that's the last of it, he's going to go find the realtor standing in the living room or something, and ask the woman to start the paperwork. Instead, he releases her arm so he can set his hands on what's only sort of her waist these days and he pulls her close.

"A _nod_ isn't the way to shake on that," he says. "I mean, dinner's not a big deal because it happens every day, but picking an apartment to live in _is_ a big deal and I think we should treat it like one."

"We need a secret handshake," Rory teases, switching gears from her doubt to his enthusiasm. It is rather contagious, one of the most addictive parts about being around him.

"If a secret handshake includes our tongues, I'm all for it," he says in a low voice made of amusement and sex, closing the gap between them and bringing his hands to her jaw once they really get started.

There are a lot of things they've done together that speak to them being a couple. They've hugged, they've made out like they're doing in this apartment that will be theirs shortly, and they've done a lot of physical contact. They haven't not assigned labels, gone deeper than superficial words for more complex emotions and sentiments, or discussed what any of this actually means for their future. They're moving in together. They're planning a life, building one. At some point, conversation probably needs to happen.

But details are falling into place and, while they're obviously not going to throw down and do a grown-up 'shake on it' or consummation of any kind, she wants to.

She pulls back from their kiss, her fingertips along the sexy stubble that is out of place on his usually well-groomed jawline, and bites her lip. She's breathing hard (his fault) and completely certain in her request. "Can we maybe have an early dinner and then get a room?"

The corners of his mouth twitch up. She only knows because it reaches his eyes. He's fighting the urge to say something dirty, to stay classy, and he's mostly failing. But the travel back to Stars Hollow isn't conducive to what she wants at all. The apartment they're standing in is too far from being theirs to wait. "Yes, yes we can," he agrees.

And really, she can tell he's barely focused while he's a work. For literally less than ten minutes.

All she had to do to get his attention was ask.

(That's a compromise she can live with.)


	10. i feel you in my bones

**a/n: after a semester's worth of classes, a new volunteer gig, an arduous application process, a new full-time job, a home construction project, and a broken hand – give you the last chapter. I didn't know it was the last one until I finished it and it felt like a good place to rest. I do apologize for the lack of warning and the long delay. Plus, this chapter tied together in a way that is a bit shorter than the others.**

 **But wait – there's more. I have an epilogue about 2/3 written and will do my best to be back with it soon. Plus, I can't make any promises just yet, but this is becoming a 'verse in my head. Thank you for your patience with me. I'm really glad you've been enjoying this story, and I'm glad I got to do something to settle the details of the revival within myself as a fan of the show who could've easily just found it disappointing. That I share it with a receptive and supportive audience is just a gift for me and I thank you for making it that.**

 **disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls or anything more than a Netflix membership. No harm or infringement is intended. The chapter title for this is from Another World by Ofelia K. Story title and other inspiration from Empire Builder by Laura Gibson. If any of you want to sue me for mentioning or using these things, you should know all I have is a pile of student debt and two leftover cases of tile. On second thought, if you want to sue me and take my debt, that shit is all yours. I'll keep the tile.**

* * *

 **chapter 10: i feel you in my bones, do you think of me in your skull?**

Logan finds himself drifting back in time a little during his various work meetings and sometimes even conversations that are longer than five minutes or so. The first time he had sex, he was fifteen years old and he wasn't in a relationship, but the source of sex was relatively steady. He found himself daydreaming a little, lost inside a tawdry headspace that was a hell of a lot of fun.

Some things never change.

Of course, the headspace is the same but virtually everything else has changed about his life. This time, he's committed. They have a relationship, he and Rory, even if they don't really have a lot of titles or superlatives to go with it. He's never felt more committed to or positive about anything in his entire life. He doesn't need t's crossed and i's dotted and all that other stuff. As long as the letters are on the page and sometimes they make words, he's more than content to keep… typing. That isn't just the endorphins talking, either.

(It's his assistant, Martin. Also at some point, he needs actual sleep.)

"… and you're not listening to me. And your phone is going to buzz a hole through your pocket," Martin trails off sharply. This isn't the first time in the last week or so this has happened. Martin wears the weary tone of the constantly rebuffed and ignored like it's a cloak of beleaguered honor, and he's got some practice doing it. That cloak has many colors and Logan has seen them all recently.

Logan's face crumples and he snaps out of the fantasy/memory of Rory riding him hard the way she did when he woke up this morning. They've been waking up early and staying up late over the last couple of weeks and it's become a nice way to transition into what he thinks life will be like with a small baby. Of course he knows there won't be sex happening then, but since it's happening now, the change in hours is fine by him either way.

"I think my jacket is better quality than that," is what he comes up with as a weak-ass comeback. He pulls the phone out and looks at the really fucking dirty text from his… girlfriend? Baby mama? He doesn't know. He probably needs to sort that out. He wants to sort that out. If she wants to sort that out. He doesn't know because they actually haven't even broached the subject, to the surprise of probably every one. People keep asking but they keep not getting answered.

The text doesn't surprise him, though. Rory is discreet, and the last person one would expect to have a wild side. It actually kind of turns him on, being the only person in the world who really knows that about her. Pregnancy has made it worse. He's learned three orgasms is about what she needs to wake up with while she's drinking less coffee. Apparently, though, pushing his luck (and pushing her) by shooting for a new PR by waking up with four just makes her want more – if the text message she just sent is any indication.

He probably needs to focus at work. There is not a chance in hell he's staying a second longer than strictly necessary at work while she's trying on lingerie and texting him pictures of the results. Therefore, in the name of at least pretending he might at some point today be an actual adult, he tried to redirect _her_ focus with his reply.

 _You look great and that will look even better on the floor. Aren't you supposed to be working on your book?_

He redirects his own attention to his assistant, and they almost make it through one bullet point on the very long and boring to-do list before he hears back from her.

 _I can't stop thinking about your tongue long enough. It's making me write a different kind of book._

Yeah, that was the thing this morning. His tongue got them both into some trouble. The good kind, but still. He laughs at the thought of Rory Gilmore writing a sex book or, worse, interjecting a sex scene into her book about her and Lorelai. She got caught with a boyfriend after her first time, he knows, and he really doesn't want her mixing up details by writing about her first boyfriend while she's horny for _him._ He's selfish like that.

 _I love you, but I have got to get some work done. Me and my tongue will be there as soon as possible, I promise._

He's set his phone aside and answered Martin's exasperated glance with a fading grin and a promise to at least do a better job pretending he's paying attention.

In the middle of his second (last) long conference call of the day, he realizes what he said.

It's something he had hesitated to say in their relationship, first edition, for a long time. She'd offered it up first and assured him he didn't have to say it back. Had he known how things would go, and how to categorize what he felt for her then, he would've just said it. Now, without age-old hang ups in the way, he'd blurted it in a text. He didn't even know you could blurt in a text.

Then again, it shouldn't be news to her, either. He's been thinking it since Valentines Day and he's sure those thoughts have carried over into his actions. He's never been able to keep them from carrying over to their bedroom. He hopes it doesn't freak her out, but there's only so much slack he can cut her on that because it's true. It's so true it hurts. It's the reason, the only reason, for all the changes he's made and the effort he's been putting in.

Now, really, he just needs to know what she's going to do with it.

* * *

 _I love you, but I have got to get some work done. Me and my tongue will be there as soon as possible, I promise._

The message probably shouldn't have caught Rory off guard, but it did. She stares at it in small sips, little glances that flood her with a relaxed warmth and a peaceful energy. She spends considerably more time thinking about it than she does staring, but it's not with the frenzied and uncertain pace of her early twenties anymore. She's gotten through a portion of her bucket list, keeping the things she wants and finding a way to discard the things she doesn't want. Having an impending arrival really just forced her into admitting it to herself, what those wants and not-wants are, and into taking at least moderate action.

She's sure. She's sure of him, more sure of herself, and sure she won't get tired or feel restless in the apartment she's currently sitting in. She doesn't feel shackled by his expectations, or in a more adjacent way, his responsibilities, this time. That was the thing last time, all family paper and yelling matches from Mitchum dictating not only that Logan needed to shape up, but what shape he was supposed to contort into. She didn't want to bend until she broke and she didn't want to have to watch him do it, either.

It doesn't hurt that this very adult version of him has managed to strike this balance between doing what he wants and doing what he's supposed to. All that suave confidence and skilled charisma of his youth, the things that fronted all that he didn't want to do and didn't look forward to – it's redirected itself now. In hindsight, she can see how deftly he handled all the changes he's made to his life over the last few months, once she gave him the latitude to make the changes he actually wanted to make. This is probably a little closer to a true compromise between what they've both always wanted. She isn't sure it's a compromise they could've made without the intervening decade, but it's one they've settled into now. It's working. It's going to work. She doesn't see it coming apart and buckling under the weight of the omnipresent future because whatever they're building is strong.

She loves him and that's enough. He loves her and that's enough.

It doesn't hurt that they have this baby on the way. That's just bonus. While she has a lot of apprehension about her ability to raise a kid, the tools are at least in place. And there are plenty of books available to help her out. They have examples, both good and bad, of what to be and what not to be. They have help. They can probably do this.

Her future is no longer wide open in all the ways that seemed so terrifying and appealing when she let him go. The doors that are closing are making quiet clicks as things fall into place for her. The book, the baby, and him – that's what she wants, and not necessarily in that order.

A few months ago, she sat next to her mother on the gazebo steps in the middle of Stars Hollow, filled with uncertainty and dread. Though her voice didn't shake and she didn't cry at the revelation that she was pregnant, she was a little afraid she would crumble under the weight of the two words she spoke. She never imagined it would come together the way it is, or that two words (or _three_ ) could reinforce something.

Her whole life has been defined by Lorelais – not as much her great-grandmother, but her mom and herself. It's been girl power, it's been figuring out what you want and going for it with naked ambition and a direct approach, gun blazing, heels clicking, and all of the really great strengths inherent in those paths. She's spent all her time spinning her wheels, thinking proof of success was in volumes. Lorelai didn't just show up to work every day, she built her own business. There were a lot of reasons, but she didn't work on personal relationships until Rory was gone and Lorelai could throw the whole of her focus into them. So that's how it's always been, you figure out what you want and go for it.

There's never been any appreciating the small things. That isn't how Lorelai, too much of a hurricane and other forces of nature, does it. In the time since her grandpa died, though, it's the small things Rory has come to miss. The record player, with its scratches and pops in the imperfect grooves, playing in the background as they read. The way his office furniture smelled like the cigars he only smoked on special occasions. The smell of a good glass of scotch, decanting for hours so no one needed a drink because the warm smell filled the room. Her grandfather was a great man made of little details.

And so she's come to realize she's a hybrid of all these larger than life dreams and experiences, puttied together with tiny details. She had to travel the world and live out journalistic ambition to write a book about her home. She had to bring her life, and Logan's, to its knees to finally settle down.

Perhaps, most importantly, she just _knows_. She's guided by intuition and love and anticipation more than determination. It's peaceful and subtle and profound. The time is right. The tide is high.

She's finally, _finally_ ready.

(Later on, when she says those words into the hair that curls at his temple when he's sweaty and exhausted in the best way, his reply is, "It's about time, Ace.)


	11. epilogue: we'll still stay the same

**a/n: And I bring you to the end of this ride, but it's not** _ **really**_ **the end because I have a list of drabbles/missing scenes to tack on. I don't think this verse is ever going to go away because there's so much material I could write. I have every respect in the world for the show writers for doing AYITL and spanning only one year, but attempting to cram everything into their snapshot. I also respect how much they left out because it enables me to do this and form a trajectory in my head. For everyone following on A03, I plan to group these together under a series separate from here. I haven't decided how to do this on , but I will try to do it so you can subscribe to one thing if you wish to follow along.**

 **Reviews and conversations about these fandoms are what keep me going as I write, and it would be a huge oversight not to thank everyone who has been following, replying, and enjoying. Thank you for sharing it with me, even if we don't completely agree. I've loved the dialogues spawned from this and welcome messages any time, even way after the completion date because, you know, I'm not sure this story will ever be totally done for me.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own much of anything, unless someone wants tens of thousands in student loan debt and a workload that feels more like a mountain. In which case, please sue me. Or just ask nicely and I'll give you some it. I also want to note that there seem to be similarities in some of my things and other revival fics now that I'm paying attention to those. I haven't been, because I didn't want to unintentionally derive from someone else's, so any coincidences are just that and are by accident and because we're all working in a fairly narrow window here. The epilogue title is brought to you from the song Dog Years by Maggie Rogers because she's really great and I write like crazy while her songs are in my ear.**

* * *

 **epilogue: not in vain, we'll still stay the same**

The most unusual thing at this gathering isn't even their kid wearing his aviators while he's inside. They've come to accept things like that about their preppy-and-leather kid since Richard Lucas Huntzberger asked them to call him Rico against a lot of WASP-y logic. They've kept it up because it drives Shira insane, improper as it is, and it fits him better anyway.

Anyway, no, the weirdest thing at this gathering is the knowing look Emily keeps fixing on them as they sit, reclined in the yard of Emily's house on the Cape, while kids go in and out with bangs and shouts while moving at the speed of light and life.

April has two of them, you see, and Luke and Lorelai brought the grandkids plus the quiet ten-year-old they're foster parents for. She's less quiet around her… cousins? Is that what it would be? Rory doesn't know, but she does know she's enjoyed teaching Sydney to love reading and the girl has taken to it pretty well. She thinks her mom and Luke are leaning toward adoption, if Sydney is good with it, they're just waiting because they have to.

Back to Emily's face, also known as the weirdest thing at this family gathering, at least until Lorelai has one more sangria.

They've seen a lot of that look in the last five-plus years but it has a new intensity that's unsettling when Emily's 'dinner companion,' who is around for a hell of a lot more than dinner, is refilling their drinks again. He's pleasant enough and Rory has _almost_ stopped thinking he's had sex with her grandma. She only thought it in the first place because of her mom's partially drunk support, spoken as ' _Get it, Gilmore.'_

"Spit it out, Grandma," Rory finally says, her frustration getting the better of her.

Lorelai gives Rory a look that's a lot like a high-five because someone besides her snapped first for once. Logan's fingertips on her bare shoulder are amused. No, she doesn't know how that's possible, but it is and she knows him _that_ well. She ought to by now.

"Spit what out?" Emily intones over her smug surprise. "I'm just waiting for _you_ to spit it out."

"Spit what out?" Rory protests. "You know my news. The second book in the series is out next month and the third is halfway written. Rico is staring kindergarten. Logan has to go to Germany for three weeks in October and we're going to try to go with him for some of it."

"You're pregnant," Emily blurts. "I know the signs."

What, like the successful kids novel series for 'advanced readers' she's got going and she's been cramming in as much time on as possible so she can have an actual little bit of maternity leave this time?

That's largely irrelevant.

Rory sputters a little and Logan, who was mid-drink and didn't choke at all because he's not surprised, sets his glass down with a smirky smile to save her.

"Lots of things are pregnant, Emily," he teases. " _Possibilities_ are just one example."

"Pauses," Rory points out, setting her hand on his leg with a grin. "Silences." They engage in a cutesy back and forth about whether those two are the same thing, but that's quickly ended by Lorelai.

"I think more things are naked than pregnant," she supplies. Luke groans.

Technically, he knew before Lorelai did. That's another story. In short, Luke has been uncomfortably waiting for this moment for almost four months.

"No one here is naked and I would like to keep it that way," Emily says sharply. That's her version of affection anyway. She loves these moments and they all know it, including her. Still, affection can't replace good old-fashioned nagging and she redirects to Logan. "Don't you think it's about time you make an honest woman of my granddaughter?"

He turns toward Rory and buries his face against her skin, pulled tight over the curve of her shoulder and one of his favorite spots to kiss when they're the kind of naked that leads to pregnant.

To be fair, at least this time it was on purpose.

Either way, his expression begs her – his wife, though no one knows that but the two of them—to put him out of his misery.

He's borne it gracefully and in good if not slightly mischievous humor for six years. She decides to maybe finally cut him some slack.

"It's a little late for that," she says. "He already did." It's not how they ever planned to announce their courthouse trip on a bright day in late May in New York. Two days before _that,_ she'd looked up from the book she was reading and said she wanted to be married before Rico was born. Once the barrier was broken, things fell into place pretty quickly because they didn't want Huntzberger attorneys (and Gilmore attorneys if she's being honest) to find out and force them into a pointless prenuptial agreement.

The chorus of shock swells and it's _totally_ worth it.

Emily just dryly asks if it's always going to be _this way with you two._

Lorelai would be mad if she had a leg to stand on, but she got married before everyone thought she did. Plus, Logan asked her for permission to propose so she's been included in some of it. At some point, she'll realize that meeting was a red herring of sorts and they'll have to explain. But Rory going through grown-up motions and relying on a partner first and her mother second has actually been a calming thing for them both, though there have been a few stumbles. _Plus_ now that the news is out, she'll have to find something to mollify the Stars Hollow contingent. She may not be an Emily-level party planner, but Lorelai loves coordinating and having people around.

If Rory isn't mistaken, the look Luke gives her is approving and something like a smile.

Before Emily can get too far into a breathlessly indignant rant about how they must _do something_ as soon as possible, in spite of not being connected with Hartford society anymore, Rory and Logan are pulled away by their son.

Apparently, someone has thrown his blue Top Sider into the ocean. He had his theories as to the suspect and is wondering if borrowing the neighbor's dog might be the best way to retrieve his precious shoe since he doesn't have swim trunks (or an adult) with him. Either way, he can't function without a left shoe because he doesn't do bare feet except on the beach.

In the end, Logan piggy-backs their son to the water and tells Rico it doesn't matter who tossed the shoe, not really, but they can find a way to prank the person who did it. They'll be gone at least a half hour setting up 'Mission: Payback,' and he says those words with a mischievous sparkle in his eye that makes Rory remember she's arriving at the part of being pregnant where she would gladly just stay on top of him all day like it was her job.

"I like him so much better than his father," Emily says as she looks from Rory's face to the Logan and Rico, who are headed across the sprawling lawn into the house.

"He's a little young for you," Lorelai points out. "And _taken._ Let's talk about that."

Emily only sputters for a minute, her stern look at Lorelai so familiar that Luke and Rory both have to stop laughing before Rory gets trapped into explaining for longer than the half hour Logan said he'd be gone.

He can make it up to her. She's sure she'll think of a few ways he can do that. If not, she knows he's creative enough to find a way or two of his own.


End file.
